Dreams of the Living Dead
by CarolynneRuth
Summary: Is four years really long enough to forget a best friend? It's the anniversary of Johnny's death and Ponyboy does what he always does on this one day of the year; visit his friend's grave to watch the sunset. Only this day ends a lot differently from previous years, changing the whole course of his life in a rather dramatic way.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is not a Zombie fic. There is a play on the words 'living' and 'dead'. You'll see what I mean by the end of this chapter. I've not written anything for a long while and re-read _The Outsiders_ just recently and let's just say my writing muse fired up.

I hope you enjoy reading the chapter as much I loved writing it. Please let me!

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* * *

 ** _CHAPTER ONE._**

* * *

 _October 15_ _th_ _, 1969_

I kneel down at Johnny's grave, wrestling with the all too familiar grief that washes over me.

"You'd think," I choke, "I'd be over it by now. It's been four years Johnny. Can you believe it?"

I somehow stop the tears. _Suck it up, Pony,_ I silently chide. _You're not a kid anymore._

"Turned 18 last month," I continue, my voice now steady as I attempt to pull my wayward emotions in check. "I'm technically an adult."

I let out a laugh that sounds far too bitter. "I'm telling Darry what to do."

The irony of it

I can see Johnny perched on his headstone, a wry grin on his lips, ' _man, seriously?'_

I'm glad no one is around to see my imaginary conversations. I always visit Johnny's grave at dawn on the anniversary of his death. I'd come later in the day with the other gang members. Every year we'd pay our respects, but this … me and Johnny … watching the sun rise, it was just the two of us. Yeah, I remember him telling me _'that sure was pretty'_ in our short stay at Windrixville, when one morning we'd watch the sunrise.

It seems a lifetime ago now and strangely not … I don't even know how to explain it.

"Within reason," I cough. "Let's say I got a job and told Darry to go to College. He's done so much. He needs a break. I told him that he was going to college and I'll work the next three years and then we can swap, you know."

' _That's cool, Ponyboy. See, I always knew you'd do something like that. You stayed gold didn't ya, Pony?'_

I nod. "Yeah." Least I tried to. Nobody is ever that good, all of the time, right? I sure ain't.

I see the curiosity in Johnny's dark brown eyes. God, how I miss him. "You should be here," I murmur, swallowing the painful lump in my throat.

' _Don't go there, Ponyboy,'_ I hear him speak.

I screw my eyes shut to stop the tears.

' _Talk to me, man. What about you, what job you doing now?'_

I somehow manage to find my voice again. "I work at a bank."

Johnny falls off the headstone in astonishment. It makes me smile. Okay, so maybe this is all in my head, so be it, I don't care. This is all I have left of him, I'll take what I can get.

"Got good grades when I graduated, didn't have problems getting a job, had to buy a suit though and get a haircut," I sigh. "Man, that sucks, but the pay ain't bad. I guess it's worth it, getting used to the hair so short anyway. Two-Bit and Steve still like to take the piss out of me from time to time, but it's been nearly a year and the whole novelty has kind of worn off now."

' _That's alright, still looks better than Windrixville,' Johnny reassures._

I smile. "Yeah, man I don't think it could get any worse than that."

' _You dissing my hair dressing abilities now, Pony?' he jokes._

It may have bothered me once, but my self-identify was no longer tied up in the length of hair, not like it was then. "You know, don't think I was ever a greaser, just had no choice … like none of us really ever did."

I toe poke a patch of dirt with my sneaker. I might have no say about my past, but I could try to change my future, right? I ain't that jaded yet.

' _Ya, gonna be more, Pony, I know ya will be.'_

Every year, it's always the same. I justify my existence, why I live and why he doesn't. "I try to be, Johnny … I try …" My voice catches in my throat.

' _Hey, c'mon, Ponyboy.'_

A dark lock of hair falls in his eye. _'Always tough times …'_ his face suddenly becomes serious, worried... _'don't give up hope, Pony, dark days will come and go, but you gonna survive … because I know you."_

I frown. This is new, I don't remember Johnny talking this way before. "What are you sayin' Johnny?"

' _Just stay gold, Pony. Don't let the world beat ya. Don't get bitter.'_

I'm still confused. I want to reach out. I want to feel something solid beneath my fingertips, something real. If I could just touch him … then maybe this wasn't a figment of my imagination. I reach out my hand, like I always do, but there is nothing there … just air … and it's cold.

Johnny vanishes before my eyes, and the loss hits me hard. My whole body starts to shake. My teeth clatter against each other. God, how I hate this time of year.

"C'mon, Johnny, don't desert me now."

I sound so pathetic, like a ten year old. I run a distraught hand across my face, through my hair, pulling on the short blunt ends in despair. Is four years really long enough to get over losing your best friend?

"Pony?" comes a strangely familiar voice.

My hand drops to my side and I raise anguished eyes to the face of my older brother. "Darry?"

Darry doesn't hesitate, before I can even respond to his presence, I find myself caught up in his embrace. His warm arms wrap around my skinny frame. I'm nearly as tall as him now but that was where the similarities end. I was too lanky, knobbly knees and pointy elbows with gaunt cheeks and everyone always telling me to eat more. Since Johnny's death and then Dallas, my appetite has never been the same. It has gotten a bit better with time, but then I'd shoot up in height and just end up thin once again.

" _Jeez kid," Two-Bit would muse, "when ya gonna stop growing?"_

" _When you hold down a job," I'd retort._

 _Two-Bit would grin. "Mouthy little shit. Getting' too big for ya own boots now."_

They all still like to baby me, just because I'm the youngest, god how it annoys me. Still, Two-Bit is my best buddy. Everywhere I go, he follows, as if it's his god damn duty or something. I don't mind. Kind of like it, he always keeps the dark shadows at bay with his jest and humour. At times, I sorely need it.

"Who ya' talking to, Pony?" Darry asks, I hear the concern in his voice.

"Don't ask," I mutter, pulling out of his embrace.

I can feel his eyes raking off me, studying me and worrying; always worrying. Though he no longer needs to worry. I ain't a kid anymore.

"Not a baby," I remind him.

He slides an arm across my shoulder and I welcome it, baby or not. As usual, still lying to myself.

"Okay, little brother, who still thinks he knows it all," Darry begins, pulling me along and away from Johnny's grave. "What are you doing out here?"

I take a deep breath. "What I always do, watch the sunrise with Johnny on the anniversary of his death."

Mercifully Darry doesn't push it. He's kind of mellowed out this last year. College has been good for him, he's finally doing something he's always dreamed of wanting to do, but never believing he would. The stress he's carried for so long has begun to ease up. He looks younger too, or well more his age.

"Don't sweat it, Darry. I know he ain't real, it just makes me feel better imagining he's there." I talk honestly, because I know Darry gets it now.

He ruffles my hair. "Alright Kiddo."

I roll my eyes, push his hand away from my hair in annoyance. It's that damn kid thing again, will I ever escape it?

* * *

I slick back the shortness of my hair with greasy oil, for what it's worth. It was Johnny and Dallas' memorial after all. Steve cocks an eyebrow in amusement at my feeble attempts.

"It's like a new found foal trying to find its legs," he quips.

"Still earn more money than you," I retort.

He scowls. That shuts him up. I can see him grit his teeth. I still don't like him, but he has grown on me with time.

As for Sodapop, he'll never change. He'll stand the test of time, defy its gravity, _'I won't ever age, you can't make me, I'll always be young'._

Hell, even I act older than him now. He is turning 21, legal drinking age. Though we'd all been drinking at a much tender age, except me, because Darry wouldn't let me. Not that he needed to be so tough, I'd already seen how much damage excessive drinking does to a person. I barely touch the stuff.

Steve and Sodapop are still working at the DX station, only Sodapop is like the manager now, which really ticks Steve off and makes me secretly smile in a smug kind of way.

As for Two-Bit, he finally did grow too old for high school, leaving a year before I did. In the end I think he only hung around because I was still there. Now and again he manages to get a job, only to get fired shortly afterwards. We all have running bets on how long he'll last whenever he gets a new job. Once, he surprised us and lasted a whole week.

Grabbing a carton of chocolate milk from the fridge, I walk into the living room. I catch a glimpse of the six o'clock news. Always bleak and grim, always about the Vietnam War. Always about death, as if we can never truly escape it.

"Man, is that war ever gonna end," Steve snorts, taking a swig of his beer. "They're doing another damn draft lottery. Sure hope they don't pick my date of birth."

Darry switches the television off.

Steve glances in Two-Bit's direction. "Hey, man, maybe you'll get drafted and then you can't get fired."

"Not me, no way. I'll just high tail it to Canada."

"What about you, Soda?" Steve continues.

Soda plonks himself down next to me and I shiver. Just the thought of either one of my brothers getting drafted into that horrible war secretly terrifies me.

"You cold, Ponyboy?" Sodapop asks, concern reflected in his eyes.

I shake my head, take a swig of chocolate milk. Soda just shrugs at Steve's question and doesn't answer.

"Enough talk of that, let's go pay our respects," Darry interrupts. He hates talking about anything to do with the war. I already know he's lost a couple of friends.

* * *

There is no banter as we arrive at the cemetery. Two-Bit has already downed at least half a dozen beers. I know he'll be out cold by the end of the night.

Even Sodapop's usual enthusiasm is seriously down played. He walks, head bowed and hands shoved in his pockets.

All of us have grim expressions on our faces. I light a cigarette and draw back deeply. Recent research, without a doubt, has now shown that smoking does indeed kill you, but then what in this life doesn't? I don't really care. If I'm gonna die, then hell, everyone's gotta die sometime, right. No one's really paying much attention to the feeble health campaigns about the dangers of smoking and I can't see it ever changing. Though Darry does get on my case about it. He just can't let go of that whole big brother protective role, despite me now being 18.

He has a girlfriend. Her name is Sue. He met her at College. She's pretty cool, but man does she go on about the rights of woman and how badly treated they are and given what I know; I agree with her, though the rest of the gang just laugh at her or tease her. Some of those College girls sure are feisty and there is something about Sue that vaguely reminds me of Cherry Valence. Man, I haven't seen her in well over three years, but I've never forgotten her. Sometimes I still stop, catch a beautiful sunset and think of her. I wonder if she is watching the same sunset too.

Each one of us usually says a couple of words at Johnny and Dallas' graves. I hang back, always wanting to be the last one because usually by that time the others are starting to fidget and not really paying attention. But tonight, something doesn't feel right. It's as if Johnny is lurking in the shadows, feeling anxious. I shake my head to clear it. I'm seriously delusional at times.

Overly sensitive.

Maybe, that's why everyone feels as if it's there duty to protect me or something? And protect me from what exactly? I might be sensitive, but I'm strong too. I've had to be.

When it's my time to speak, the words catch in my throat. I see him; Johnny. He looks sad. Dallas is always standing back in the darkness, I never know what is going on with him.

" _Be strong, Ponyboy," a voice … his voice whispers on the cool night breeze._

I shiver and quite suddenly, I just want out of here. I just want to go home, to the warmth and the familiar banter among friends and brothers.

* * *

I was glad to leave the cemetery. The mood began to slowly lighten as we headed home. Sodapop and Steve were already discussing playing Polka. Two-Bit was making some rather crude jokes and everything feels right again.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Darry calls over his shoulder as we walk up to the front porch. "Can you check the mail?"

I grumble under my breath, but do as he asks.

I shove my hand in the letter box, grabbing a couple of letters, no doubt bills and a rather large A4 manilla envelope. I peer down at it frowning. It's addressed to me. I flip it over and my heart sinks at the return address; The Department of the Army.

I frown, my heart does a funny little lurch. _This … can't be happening … this …_

My hands shake as I tear open the envelope. I somehow manage to read the official words. _**You are hearby directed to present yourself for Armed Forces Physical Examination in the local board named above by reporting at Tulsa Recruitment Office, 230 Sanchez Road, Tulsa, Oklahoma on the 1st**_ _ **November.**_

My vision blurs, I check the name and it's definitely mine. Along with my address and the chilling words: _**Selective Service System.**_ There is the Eagle Emblem of the U.S. Army in the top right corner. This is no mistake.

The letter flutters out of my hands and drifts to the ground.

But I'm too young … I've just turned 18. Johnny's pained words came back to haunt me, _'I don't want to die now. It ain't long enough. Sixteen years ain't long enough._ God, but is 18 really all that much longer? My throat tightens, I can barely breath. Just two years more than Johnny, I'll only get two more years.

I feel a maniac wild pained gurgle of laughter erupt which sounds more like a pathetic whimper. All this time I've been worrying about my brothers being drafted and at the end it would be me … a sob catches in my throat.

"Ponyboy," I hear Darry call, but his voice sounds distorted and distant; from a far. "Ponyboy?!"

I can hear the sudden concern in his voice. I numbly watch him approach. I guess I must look as wretched as I feel. Everyone knew gettin' sent to Nam was nothing short of a death sentence. The only way I'll ever return home is if I get seriously injured and declared no longer 'fit for duty'. Probably losing a limb in the process or some damn internal organ or god knows what else. And providing I do survive … I've heard horror stories. I'm not stupid. No one ever returns from that place sane.

I can feel Darry hands roughly grab me by the shoulders. "What is wrong with you?"

I shiver, my eyes wander down to the letter lying on the ground; the letter that determines my fate. Letting me go, Darry bends down and picks it up. I wait for it … watching the myriad of emotions crossing Darry's face; shock, horror and then rage, white hot rage.

"No!" He screws up the letter in his hand. "I say no, Ponyboy! You're not going! I won't let this happen. You have to do as I tell you!"

I don't have the heart to tell him he no longer has that right that I'm no longer a boy and he has no say, no control anymore. God, though I wish he did. It's probably the only time in my life that I want to do as I am told.

My whole body is shaking so badly. Darry is beyond reasoning. I've never seen him so upset. His yelling and cursing attracts the attention of Sodapop, who is already making a beeline towards us. He probably thinks we're fighting, he's always hates it when we argue.

"What's going on?" he demands.

He somehow manages to catch me in his arms as I sink to the ground.

"Ponyboy?"

I don't have the heart to tell him. I know the shit storm that is about to follow and I screw my eyes shut. I'd spent the last four years living in fear that I would be taken from my brothers and put into foster care. Turning 18 had prematurely given me peace of mind. There is no need to worry anymore. I was safe. We'd made it as a family.

I really should have known better. Am I not cursed since birth?

And quite suddenly, I just don't want to feel so much anymore. It hurt, everything hurt. Soda holding me in his arms as he's done since Mum and Dad died however is strangely soothing.

"It's alright, Pony. I got you." He strokes my hair in a comforting gesture.

How I wish … I can block out tomorrow. Pull the handbrake; stop the world from spinning and just … breathe and get to live and … be … normal.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Would love to know what you all think! Reviews are always very much loved! I know the Vietnam thing has been done a lot, especially with Sodapop, but there are a few little twists along the way with this story.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! As always they make my day! I made a few minor changes. I changed the year at the start of chapter one to 1969, as the book was set in 1965 which meant I was out by a year. The date Ponyboy has to leave I changed from the 12th of November to the 1st of November.

Here is Chapter Two. Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter Two.**_

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 _ **.**_

Later that night, when the shit storm has died down, a thought comes to my mind. I've been drafted on the same day Johnny had died four years ago. Sure, I have a couple of weeks before I have to leave, but the letter arriving in the mail after returning from visiting Dally and Johnny's grave had been the last straw.

My emotions are fraught. I'm convinced I am cursed.

Somehow, that night, I manage to fall asleep, but it isn't restful. I'm running towards the old church in Windrixville. I don't know why, only I'm filled with a sudden desperation to find Johnny.

I know he's there, waiting … always waiting.

It's like he's never left.

I have to find him.

Johnny has all of the answers.

' _Johnny,' I call, my voice carries on the wild wind. 'Johnny!'_

 _It's always the same. I can't run fast enough, no matter how hard I try and I can feel the panic rising. I'm gonna lose him, just like I lose everyone I ever care about._

' _Johnny!'_

 _And it's … too much to bear. I can't stop it. I can't stop the loss … the sadness._

 _And then I find him; broken, bruised and burned. Can't be fixed. Nothing can be fixed. His dark dead eyes gaze upwards; lost and gone. Can't be found … never to be found … and then I'm screaming. I'm tearing at my hair, because nothin' is fair anymore, or, maybe life never has been._

 _I see my parents. Lost … long lost … no longer attainable, can't be reached. I see Sodapop trying to hold everything together. Both of us, holding each other, crying ourselves to sleep. And I'm trying to function, like any other normal teenage boy, only I'm not normal. I'll never be normal._

 _Then, much to my horror, it's not Johnny I'm holding but Soda. His empty eyes stare heaven bound and it's the last straw. This … it … can't be happening. The consuming grief washes over me, I weep … I don't think I'll ever stop … 'you have to come back, please, Soda, come back to me.'_

I awake with a sudden start, gulping in deep breaths of air as my heart hammers in my chest. Soda stirs besides me.

"Ponyboy," he begins sleepily.

God, it's just a dream … thank god. My hand rests on my heart as I drink in the sight of him, perfectly safe and not dead.

I hear the worry in his voice.

"It's alright, go back to sleep," I tell him.

We don't normally share a bed anymore, just sometimes Soda sleeps with me if I'm upset, or if he's upset. And tonight we were both VERY upset. I shouldn't let him comfort me. It's not as if I can afford the luxury of Soda's reassurances for much longer.

I have to toughen up. I swallow the lump in my throat at the thought of leaving my brothers.

Last night flashes through my mind.

I bury my face in my hands. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The emotional fallout that followed was as bad as I feared it would be. Soda, holding me, and muttering, _'No … it's not happening … not you, Pony … can't be, you're not much more than a kid.' I could feel his tears fall onto the back of neck. It just made me cry even harder._

 _Darry continued to pace up and down, his face dark and angry; hurting too._

 _Two-Bit, swearing under his breath._

 _Steve, grimacing and as much as he doesn't like me, this is still somethin' you don't wish on anyone._

 _Then Soda said he was gonna join up too, and go with me. Then Darry wasn't happy about that, and then Steve said 'if Soda was gonna join then so would he,' and everyone was just arguing._

 _Among_ _, all of this, Two-Bit had slung an arm across my shoulder and led me inside the house. Next thing I know he had shoved a beer in my hand and told me to drink it and so I had._

 _I practically sculled the whole can and it strangely sobered me up. Well, I at least came out of my daze._

" _Shit," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Bad enough I gotta go, I don't want Soda to go too."_

 _Though the thought was secretly comforting, but what if something happened to him? What if I had to witness the death of my brother right before my eyes? I couldn't handle something like that._

" _I'd already seen Johnny die," I stammered, tears welling in my eyes. "I don't wanna see Soda die."_

 _I love Soda more than anyone in this life._

 _Two-Bit rested a hand on my shoulder._

" _Don't worry, kid. Darry won't let him."_

 _I nod, took a deep breath. "You got any smokes?"_

 _Two-Bit handed me one and lit it for me. Through the orange glow of the cigarette I saw the concern in his eyes. "It'll be alright, Ponyboy." There is a strange resolve on his face that I can't ever remember seeing before._

The dream leaves me feeling deeply disturbed. No way is Soda going with me to Nam. Stuff Darry not letting him, I won't let him!

I rake a hand through my greasy hair. Glancing at my hand, I grimace.

"Won't have to worry about this once I'm in the Army," I mutter to myself. Soon, I'll barely have any hair. My hand shakes, and I feel strangely surreal.

It's as if I'm no longer in possession of my own body. I swallow the lump in my throat. Two weeks is all I have left of a normal life.

I think of Sally from work. The way she smiles shyly at me from the opposite desk. I notice the soft curve of her cheeks, the way her blue eyes dance and I know she likes me. I like her too. I like a lot of girls. Hell, girls are beginning to notice me a lot too.

Guess I kind of look more like Soda than I realised.

' _Bulk up a bit kid, and you'll have all the girls after ya,' Two-Bit would often tell me, 'hell, then ya can leave the crumbs for me, just make sure you go for the blondes.'_

' _Yeah, right,' I snort back._

As much as I like girls, I've just never found that one girl yet. Sometimes I think I see her, a flash of long red hair out of the corner of my eyes; feisty and pretty. Someone who loves to watch sunsets and yep … maybe I need to really forget about Sherri Valance. I don't know why she left such a lasting impression on me. I've never found anyone else like her.

Not that it matters now. She's probably married to some good looking young guy from the right side of town. Maybe, she married a doctor, or a lawyer. She probably went to College, she was hell smart. Then I remember her words, _'I could fall in love with Dallas Winston.'_ Maybe she had found another Dallas Winston out there to fall in love with, though I couldn't see it.

None of it matters because I'm going to be taken from my family and taught how to kill people all in the name of so called justice – so help me god.

My whole body begins to shake. Soda has fallen back to sleep. I get up from the bed and head for the bathroom. Once in there, I splash my face with cold water. I stare back at my pale reflection.

It's beginning to sink in now – being drafted. Hell, boys as young as 15 fought in the civil war. Just, that seemed like a more honourable war than fighting with people in another country about politics that really have nothin' to do with us.

It's senseless. Everyone knew it, all these young men losing their lives for nothing. I eye my now mostly brown hair, which has darkened as I've aged, there's hardly any red left in it either, except in the sunlight. That was a good thing though, no one want's to have red hair. Then I laugh at the absurdity of it all, what the hell difference does it make?!

I won't be a greaser for much longer, probably have never really been one, and shortly I'll be a number in a system; a soldier.

Tearing my gaze away from the mirror, I shove my hands in my pockets. I really need a smoke and badly.

Leaving the bathroom, I head to the kitchen. I search for my pack of cigarettes, trying to remember where I left them. I finally find them and head out to the back porch.

It's three in the morning.

I'm surprised to see Darry there. Although, maybe I shouldn't be. He glances at me. I notice the dark circles under his eyes, the slightly grey sheen under his tan. He looks tired. I feel as if I done nothing but cause him grief since our parents had died. Which is why I went to work, so he could have a chance to follow his dreams.

I now numbly realise that if I'd gone to College, I wouldn't have been drafted into the Army. I can see Darry thinking the same thing. I shove my hands in my pockets.

"You should have gone to College, Ponyboy," he mutters and there it is.

It's uncanny how we sometimes can read each other so easily.

"You weren't to know."

He shakes his head. "I should have seen this coming."

I pull a cigarette out of the packet.

"I don't see how," I say, lighting the smoke and breathing in deeply.

There is regret and a sadness in his eyes. "You did your best, Darry," I reassure.

"Can't replace a parent," he murmurs, looking strangely defeated and I hate seeing him this way. "And you …" he gestures to the cigarette in my hand. "Never would have started smoking at just 13."

Mom and dad would have killed me if I'd taking up smoking then, I know it. Still probably wouldn't have stopped me though.

"I might have been 14 instead of 13," I say to lighten the mood. "C'mon Darry quit beating yourself up about it."

I get a faint glimmer of a smile, which is better than nothing.

"You know how stubborn I am," I continue. "You know how much I hate being told what to do."

His smile widens just a fraction.

"You sure are that."

I smile too and we sit back on the old beat up two seat sofa. Darry props his legs up on the porch railing. I take the moment to speak about what's bothering me the most.

"You won't let Soda follow me, will you Darry?"

"Don't know if I can stop him little brother."

"Hey, you know I'm nearly as tall as you," I shoot back. "I'm not little anymore."

"But still scrawny," Darry quips, teasingly.

He's right about that, normally this would end up in a play fight wrestling match, but both of us are far too tired for that.

I hear him sigh, he's worrying again.

"You have to eat healthy when you're away, Ponyboy. You'll need your energy and strength. You're already too thin. God knows what the food will be like during basic training, probably awful."

He rakes a hand through his hair. "You can't afford to get any skinnier."

"I'll be fine …" I begin but he doesn't appear to hear me.

"Mom and dad would skin me alive if they could see you now," he mutters. "I should have tried harder."

I hate it when he does this. It makes me feel lousy. I don't think I turned out that badly considering everything that I've been through. Hell, it's not as if Darry suddenly asked to play parent at just 20. I wish he'd quit blaming himself for everything that's wrong with me.

"I might have turned out even more screwed up than I already am if you had," I joke.

"Now ya beginning to sound like Two-Bit. He's a bad influence on you."

Darry doesn't mean it of course. We'd be lost without Two-Bit adding the humour to our lives. As it is, Two-Bit's almost as overly protective of me as my brothers are.

Darry throws an arm around me and I lean my head against his shoulder.

"If Soda goes to Nam he'll die." I don't mean to be the prophet of doom and gloom, just can't shake the dream.

"No one's going to Nam," Darry mutters gruffly. "Just because your drafted, Pony, doesn't mean you'll end up there."

I hate to tell him that 90 percent of guys without qualifications and from the poor end of town do end up in Vietnam, instead I choose not to say anything at all because I want to believe him.

* * *

It's gone past four in the morning when I return to bed. Soda stirs as I try my best to quietly not disturb him. "What'cha doing, Pony," he murmurs sleepily, "where ya been?"

"Just couldn't sleep," I reply as I lie down next to him.

He drapes an arm over my shoulder as I lie on my side. "You'll be fine, Pony. I won't let anything happen to you."

How I want to believe him.

"Of course," I reply, more for him than me.

I always did have to grow up too quickly. Losing your parents young, does that to a person.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, I'm all alone in the bed. At first I don't know where I am or what's even happening and then, quite suddenly, the events of last night wash over me and I groan. I've been drafted into the Army. Life, as I knew it, was set to change in a really dramatic way.

I groan again and ran a hand through my hair. Surely it all has to be a bad dream.

Pushing the covers back, I stumble out of bed. I shoot a bleary eye to the clock, which reads 9.00am. I can hear voices conversing in the kitchen and I make my way there, knowing its Darry and Soda arguing, which is very rare.

Their voices waft down the corridor.

"I'm going," I hear Soda say. "You can't stop me, Darry. I'm not letting my little brother do this alone."

Oh, no … no … no …

I stumble into the kitchen. Darry glances my way. It takes Soda a second longer to realise I'm there. My stricken gaze meets his.

"No, Soda."

I never say no to him, so I can see this comes as a shock. He blinks, then I see the hurt in his eyes.

"Pony, you don't gotta do this on your own."

"Yeah I do," I return. "I ain't gonna watch you die in Nam because of me."

"Don't be silly … I won't …"

"You could," I interrupt. "I've already seen Johnny die, I can't go through that again, please … Soda," I implore.

Surely he has to understand this.

"You think I want to watch you die," he gets out in a hoarse voice. "You don't think what that'll do to me, Ponyboy? You think, I can sit back here, knowing you are out there risking your life every day?"

"You have to, Soda."

Tears fill his eyes.

"You don't want me there?"

God, I give anything to have him with me, all of the time but not at the cost of his life. I'm about to bawl and I don't want to. I've already cried enough.

"Of course," I choke, "But … I … Soda …"

"I don't want you to face this alone," he begins.

"He won't be alone," a voice speaks from the doorway and we all spin around.

Two-Bit stands there, a strange expression on his face.

"Ponyboy won't be alone because I've just joined the Army."

Silence fell. It's strange, we are all waiting for the pun that never comes.

"As of today, I've enlisted into the Army and I'll be joining Ponyboy on the 1st of November. We'll be catching that bus together and shoot but y'all look as if ya about to faint."

I blink and somehow find my voice. "You did what?"

Because Two-Bit is the last person I'd ever expect to join the Army. The longest he's ever held down a job is one week.

"Shit, kid. Don't 'cha know by now that where ever you go, I go?" He swallows quickly. "Ya think I'm gonna let you go off and have all the adventures and pick up the girls without me."

A slow grin crosses my face.

I know what this has cost him. How big a deal this is. I might have no choice, but Two-Bit has made this decision all on his own. I don't know what to say so I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Sure, gonna be a blast."

And just like that, it's all settled. Soda doesn't say anything more, but I notice the look in his eyes; a resigned sadness and also hurt. It's almost as if he's kind of jealous that Two-Bit is going with me and not him. I say nothing of this to Soda, because I'm glad it's not him, because I could never handle losing Soda, and surely he has to see this; right?

This is for the best, not that I want to lose Two-Bit either, but Two-Bit is more robust than Soda and I kinda of know he'll be alright. Plus I don't have nightmares about him dying.

I see the relief on Darry's face. We share a resigned understanding. It's not ideal, but it is what it is and now I don't gotta do this all on my own. A gang always looks out for each other, that's just what we do.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Hopefully I'm remaining true to character. Would love to know what people think. Did anyone guess that Two-Bit would go with Ponyboy?

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	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three.**_

* * *

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November the 12th came around all too quickly. As I knew it would. I finish my job at the bank. The manager tells me I'll have a job to come back to, that I'm a good employee. He wishes me the best of luck. Everyone was saying that on my last day, it was really unnerving. I couldn't even bring myself to look at Sally's sorrow filled eyes.

By the end of the day I couldn't wait to get out of there. Unbeknownst to me, Sally follows me and calls my name just as I'm leaving the building. Much to my surprise, she hugs me before pressing her lips to mine in a soft kiss.

"For luck," she tells me.

My hands momentarily tighten on her waist, my voice catches in my throat. She brushes her fingers across my cheek. I breathe in the scent of her hair.

Some sort of madness must have come over me because I find myself kissing her back. Her lips part and I slip my tongue intimately into her mouth and she tastes so good. Her arms weave around me, her fingers slipping through my hair as I pull her closer.

This is crazy. We have never even been on a date! I've kept her at arm's length distance for the last two weeks, because I didn't want to get to know her. I didn't want to risk developing any feelings towards her when I'm about to go war. Now I find myself wishing I had gotten to know her, I might never have the chance again. She must sense my urgency because she deepens the kiss.

"We could make love," she whispers in my ear, "Something to remember me by."

I kind of freeze. "What?"

"I've never done it before, Pony, and I've liked you for so long. I just want to remember you or rather you to remember me before you go away."

Just do it, a voice screams in my head, but then I recall her words ' _I haven't done it before',_ and as usual, logical reasoning wins out.

"That's no reason to make love," I blabber.

You idiot, I immediately chide. What the hell is wrong with you!?

I shake my head, resting my hands on her shoulders.

"Save it for someone you love and for the right time," I tell her.

Her face crumples. "There never is a right time, Ponyboy."

By now I just feel kind of wretched and I can't even bring myself to do anything even if I wanted to. My heart has already been broken so much these last two weeks. I can't risk it getting even more damaged.

"Yeah, there is," I tell her and then I say goodbye and walk away, cursing my stupidity and a certain red-head whose name I should have forgotten long ago. Besides, I don't like the thought of sex as nothing more than a pity trip. So I lie to myself. You had your chance and you blew it, as usual. Probably won't come round again. You'll die a damn virgin.

* * *

I'm still cursing myself when I walk in the door to my house. Darry has cooked, probably the last decent dinner I'll get before Two-Bit and I have to leave at the crack of dawn for basic training in Fort Polk tomorrow morning.

There seriously has to be something wrong me.

I sit down at the table.

"What's up, Pony?" Soda asks, he always knows when something isn't right with me.

"Sally wanted sex and I turned her down," I blurt out.

Deathly silence ensures at the dinner table. I glance from Darry to Sodapop, Steve and Two-Bit.

"I should have just done it, right?" I continue.

Steve nods, Darry shrugs and no one seems to know what to say.

"Hell, not if it's just for pity though ... right?"

"Maybe she just wanted to get pregnant," Steve adds. "I hear of girls doing that."

It doesn't make me feel anymore reassured. I can't imagine Sally being that kind of girl. And why would they?

"Do you like her?" Soda asks.

I nod. "Yeah, but I'm not in love."

When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut? I can see Darry doesn't mind, he already thinks he's failed me and this just confirms that maybe he hasn't. Soda is a romantic at heart, I already know this, though no one else does. As for Two-Bit and Steve, they will think I'm definitely weird.

Two-Bit pats me on the back.

"Don't worry, Pony. Plenty more girls jumping at the chance to sleep with ya in the next coming months."

It doesn't reassure me. I don't want girls wanting to have sex just because I might go to Nam. I want to have sex because we both want to do it for the right reasons, because we love each other and want to be together, like my parents. I still had 13 years with them, still knew how much they loved each other, how they stuck it out through all the bad times.

I want what they had.

As if, I silently snort. Stupid idiot, you're going to a war with a high fatality rate. You'll die young. You should have made love to Sally.

* * *

The last night was always going to be the hardest. I was kinda glad when Steve and Two-Bit left early so it was just me and my brothers.

I flick the television on to watch the late news. It bugs Darry no end how I've suddenly taken an interest in any news from Vietnam. It's morbid. I know it, just can't help it. It's like I need to prepare myself for what's to come.

"Turn it off, Ponyboy," Soda speaks from the doorway.

I look up in surprise, because it's normally Darry telling me to turn it off, not Soda. But then I see the shadows in Soda's eyes and I instantly feel bad. His face is pale and I know he's struggling as much as me, if not more.

I try to put myself in his shoes, what if Soda had been drafted and I had to stay at home, worrying all the time. I don't know what's worse.

"Sorry," I say and quickly switch the television off.

Soda sits on the sofa. I see the glum expression on his face. It makes me feel wretched all over again. I sit down next to him.

"It should have been me," he murmurs, "Getting drafted. I'm older."

"I'm glad it's not. I can't lost you, Soda."

We've had this conversation many times in the last two weeks.

"Yeah, well if anything happens to you Pony, I'll never be able to live with myself."

"Then you gotta live for me," I tell him, "You'll find a girl, get married and have a couple of kids."

I know Soda want's this. Like me, he just hasn't found the right girl yet.

"Don't say that," he gets out in a hoarse voice, "We are both gonna have that."

I fall silent for a minute not wanting to make this moment any more emotional than it already is.

"You think I should have slept with Sally?" I ask, pulling a cigarette out of the packet.

"I dunno, probably wouldn't have mattered, but hey, you are you. I sure know Mom and Dad would have been so proud of you, Pony. You're different, better than the rest of us."

I frown and don't believe him. "I don't think so."

He flings an arm around my neck. "Well, I happen to know so."

I don't bother to fight. It might be the last time I have this. I want to tell him how scared I am, but I can't, because I know how much it'll upset him.

* * *

Darry just about force feeds me breakfast the following morning. I'm moving dreamlike since getting out of bed. Somehow I shower, get dressed and find my way to the kitchen. I don't remember much. I'm feeling kind of numb to tell the truth. Did I do something horribly wrong in my life time to deserve this?

Nope.

Just, they happen to pull out my number, my date of birth from a hat, more or less. It ain't even fate. It's just dumb stupid luck.

* * *

Darry, Soda and Steve drive me and Two-Bit to the depot. It's a bitterly cold morning. Kind of fitting, I think dully.

It's the first time I've seen Two-Bit without his hair greased back, I suppress a grin.

"It's wavy," I say.

He scowls at me. I shrug. "Enjoy it while it lasts, ain't gonna be for much longer."

* * *

Everyone's pretty quiet on the drive to the bus depot. Not like there's much to say.

The bus comes into view. I swallow. Darry parks the car.

This is it, I inwardly sigh. Life, as I knew it was over.

Once out of the car, I find myself caught up in Darry's strong arms. I can hardly breath he's holding me that tight, like he doesn't wanna let me go.

"You gotta let me go, Darry," I manage to say.

He pulls back, his hands resting on my shoulders, his eyes raking over me as if he's trying to imprint a lasting image of me into his memories. He squeezes my shoulders.

"Alright, kid," he mutters.

He ruffles my hair with his hand. "Stay out of trouble."

I nod, feeling my vision blur with tears. I fight to keep the tears back. I'm 18, I gotta toughen up.

Next thing I knew I find myself caught up in Soda's embrace.

This is killing me, having to say goodbye, having to let go … I don't want to … I don't want this … I … suck it up. Somehow, I manage to tear myself away from Soda's arms.

Blindly and numbly, I follow Two-Bit to the bus.

I board the bus, glancing over my shoulder to look back at my brothers. I can see Sodapop fighting back tears and a lump lodges in my throat. Two-Bit gives me a gentle shove in the back. I tear my gaze away and stumble down the aisle. I'm really trying not to fall apart.

* * *

There was only about ten of us at the depot. Two-Bit and I, lounge on the back seat. I peer out the dusty back window, waving goodbye to Darry, Soda and Steve as the bus pulls out. Then I lean back in my seat and screw my eyes shut to stop the tears and get my emotions in check. It ain't easy. Two-Bit, thankfully, doesn't say anything.

Its 446 miles to Leesville and at least a nine hour drive by bus. Then there's another 30 miles to Fort Polk.

There were various stops along the way to pick up new recruits from other towns.

Two-Bit has everybody on that bus in stitches. By the time we reach Fort Polk, he knows everyone.

I'm not the only 18 year old on that bus, much to my relief. Most the guys are about 19 or 20.

* * *

It's four in the afternoon when the bus drives through the gates of Fort Polk. I'll never forget it. How sparse everything is. It makes me think of prison, I don't know why, just that I feel like I'm going to hell.

Soon as the bus pulls up, we're already running, lining up with white painted footsteps to direct us. Next thing I know, some guy in uniform is yelling at us.

"We're here to separate the men from the boys!" he booms. He has numerous strips on his shirt sleeve. He addresses himself as Drill Sergeant Whitehead.

I lean towards Two-Bit. "Man, and I thought Darry could yell."

Two-Bit laughs and we both catch the attention of the drill sergeant. He marches over and stands directly in front of me. His eyes rake over me, disapprovingly.

I swallow. Oh, shit, terrific. Day one and I've already caught his attention.

"How old are you?"

"18."

He brings a hand up to his ear. "What was that?"

"18."

"Louder boy!" he yells.

"18."

"18, Sergeant to you!"

"18, Sergeant!" I yell back.

"And this is what I'm talking about, boy, turning you into a man. You think that's possible, Private?"

I feel humiliated, my face reddens.

"Yes, sergeant!"

I can't help the glare I shoot his way, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He moves on, much to my relief and continues with his tirade.

* * *

We are led into reception, to an adjacent room were I'm asked questions about my qualifications. I'm tested on 20 different subjects ranging from mechanics to machine guns. I know shit all, I read books, fictional ones. I have no skills or trades.

"I can run fast," I tell them.

I'm assigned 'Infantry.' In other words, cannon fodder. Two-Bit has the same, he has no skills either. We're put into the same platoon, unit A-2-1.

From there we are issued bedding, uniforms, even jocks and socks.

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow, he doesn't look impressed. "I have to wear these?" he exclaims, holding up the ginormous Y-fronts in his hands. "It's something like my grandpa wears."

I manage a laugh, but it didn't last. Next, it was to the barber's. I'm kind of dreading it. Sure, my hair is shorter than I like, but at least I still have hair.

I sit down in the seat. The barber puts those hair clippers to my head. I suppress a shudder. He just lets those hair clippers go and there's not much left when he's through. They call it the equaliser, cutting every bodies hair the same way. I ran a hand over my head. Shit, seriously. It's the weirdest sensation. The barber must have noticed the glum expression on my face.

"You'll get used to it, kid."

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I stumble outside and search for Two-Bit. It's hard to distinguish who is who now, we all kind of look the same. I feel like a shorn sheep. I guess this is part of taking away your own self-identity, and making you part of a collective group, uniform, just a number. I don't like it.

I find Two-Bit, it wasn't that hard at the end as he's the only one slouching. Pulling out a cigarette from my pocket I light it up. Poor old Two-Bit doesn't look happy. He sure does look different. I can't help smiling.

"Don't say it, kid," he mutters, drawing back on a cigarette.

"It sure does suck, huh," I return.

"The things I do for you," he continues to mutter.

"Yeah, well I never asked you to." But I'm glad he did and he knows it.

"Ungrateful little Brat."

Putting an arm around my neck, he forces my head down and rubs his knuckles over the top of my head.

"Oww, let me go," I protest. It hurts.

Two-Bit releases me, draws back on his cigarette.

"Hey, listen to this joke," he begins. "A cowboy walks into a barbershop, sits on the barber's chair and says, _'I'll have a shave and a shoe shine.'_ The barber begins to lather his face while a woman with the biggest, firmest, most beautiful breasts that he has ever seen kneels down and begins to shine his shoes. The cowboy says, " _young lady, you and I should go and spend some time in a hotel room."_ She replies, _"I'm married and my husband wouldn't like that."_ The cowboy says, _"Tell him you're working overtime and I'll pay you the difference."_ She says, _"you tell him. He is the one shaving you."_

Two-Bit cracks up laughing. His laughter is contagious and I find myself laughing too. As always, Two-Bit makes everything that bit brighter.  
A shadow looms over us and I glance up at the same drill sergeant that had singled me out earlier.

"If it isn't Laurel and Hardy," he remarks, sourly. He has one mean face. I bet if he smiled his face would crack. "Do you two need an ambulance?"

I'm confused and frown.

"Stand up straight, soldiers!" he bellows, "There is no slouching here!"

I straighten my shoulders and Two-Bit does the same.

"Time to get your shots."

I glance at Two-Bit; shots? Did I just imagine an amused grin on the sergeant's face?

I soon found out why the sergeant was grinning, because he's a sadistic son of a bitch and I'd been giving so many needles for a variety of different diseases that I was beginning to feel like a human pin cushion.

Could this day get any worse?

I'd spent the whole day on the bus, since six this morning and it was now six at night and the drill sergeant who'd put us into formation was yelling his head off about what we would do, when we would do it and how we would do it. Both my arms ache from the shots. I feel tired, my head hurts, my stomach grumbles. I'm starving, which is unusual for me.

"We either break you or we make you!" he was yelling, "There is no room for egos here. Egos are detrimental. There is no you anymore. You belong to the United States Army and you'll become soldiers and do your country proud."

Yeah, right, I silently snort to myself. My luck, which has never been good, would have it that Drill Sergeant Whitehead, would be assigned to my platoon. Just great. Terrific. He tells us that as Army trainees we're the lowest form of life on earth, we're lower than whale shit, which is at the bottom of the ocean.

He took us into our assigned barracks, which aren't much to look at, a wooden building with open bays crammed with metal bunk beds.

He begins to yell about how we were to maintain the barracks and then we were given 30 seconds to form up in the company area outside our barracks.

He gives the order, we rush outside and fail miserably. He isn't happy, starts yelling at us and then he makes us crawl under the barracks. There is only a two feet crawl space underneath those buildings and we have to crawl the whole length. The prick makes us do this at least four times before he's satisfied and leads us to the mess hall for dinner.

"I hate that guy," Two-Bit mutters beside me as we walk, exhausted.

I feel the same.

"Hey, Pony. Keep a low profile and try to stay out of his war path. I swear he has it in for you."

Yeah, he sure does, I inwardly sigh and I don't know why. I haven't done anything to him. I've barely had the chance.

* * *

I shovel the food down, I don't even care what it is, I'm that hungry. Two-Bit shoots me an amused look.

"Shit, kid, but I don't think I've ever seen ya eat so much or so fast since …" his voice breaks off there.

"Since Johnny died," I finish for him. "It's alright. You can say it."

I glance around the plain grim hall.

"Maybe it's this place," I sigh, "not like there's much else to look forward to except meal times."

And that's the damn truth. There's supposedly a recreation room, but no television. Two-Bit had sworn under his breath at that news. I can't even call home. There are no pay phones around. I'm cut off from the whole world.

Quite suddenly it's as if the day has caught up with me; I'm exhausted. I miss my brothers. I wish for nothing more than to be home, curling up in my own bed with a good book. Soda would come jump on my bed, ask about the book, ask about my day and tell me about his. Then he'd ruffle my hair, kiss my forehead and say goodnight.

I feel the lump form in my throat. Tears burn at the back of my eyes.

I don't want to be here.

I screw my eyes shut.

"Hey, Pony," Two-Bit says softly. "We'll make our own fun."

I manage a smile, with Two-Bit around that'd sure be the truth. I can only imagine what he'll get up to.

* * *

The first night is spent with us setting up our bunks, getting familiar with everything, laying out our lockers as is expected of us. I have a shower, brush my teeth and catch my reflection in the mirror for the first time since having my hair shaved. It looks awful. Least I won't have to worry about a hair comb, there's nothing there to comb.

It's like I'm looking at the face of a stranger. I'm not me anymore. It makes me feel disconcerted.

* * *

Its strange sleeping in a room filled with people. Someone's either coughing, or snoring or muttering in their sleep. I pull the blankets over my shoulder, lie on my side and stare out the window. The bed's pretty hard too. I try not to think of home, but it's impossible. I feel much like I did that first night when Johnny and I jumped on the train and hid out in the old church; scared and unsure of my future. I mustn't have been alone because every now and again I'll hear someone sniff and know they are feeling as homesick as I am. My head feels bare and cold. I run my hand over the short stubble and I'm back in the church with Johnny.

' _Oh, no! Not my hair.'_

' _We'd have to anyway if we got caught. You know the first thing a judge does is make you get a haircut.'_

' _I don't see why. Dally could just as easily mug someone with short hair.'_

' _I don't know why either … it's just a way of trying to break us.'_

A tear slides down my cheek. I let it go. Johnny was right about the 'trying to break us' part. That's what they were doing in this place; break us.

I never would have thought that serving your country would end up in being completely demoralised. How does that even work? I feel like I'm in prison, serving a sentence for a crime I've never committed.

More tears slide down my cheek. This life … it doesn't make sense.

 _Johnny slumps down beside me. 'Don't cry, Pony, we'll be okay. Don't cry.'_

I remembered how I'd bawled on his shoulder. I don't even bother to stop the tears now, because my throat hurts in my efforts to do so.

Eventually, the tears subside.

' _Johnny. You awake?'_

' _Yeah," he returns quietly._

' _We ain't gonna cry no more, are we?'_

' _Nope. We're all cried out now. We're getting used to the idea. We're gonna be okay now.'_

On those words, a peace settles over me. My eyelids begin to close.

'That's what I thought,' I murmur drowsily.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I would love to know what you all thought. Please leave a review. It does make the heart fonder which does inspire me to write. I totally love feedback. Just let me know what you liked most about this chapter.

Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews to date! They really do make my day! I've done a lot of research into basic training during the Vietnam War period to give as much authenticity as I can. Some is based on my own experience as I spent 3 years in the Airforce as a Medic and went through basic training myself. However, much later than the time set here!

Here is the next chapter. Enjoy!

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* * *

 **Chapter Four.**

* * *

 **.**

 _14_ _th_ _November, 1969_

 _Hey, Darry and Soda,_

 _It's me, Ponyboy. I know I said I'd try to write every couple of days, but we don't get much time to do anything fun in this place. Sorry, that's it been nearly two weeks. I'd call, but there ain't any payphones around, which really sucks. We should get a weekend pass in two weeks, then I'll give you a call. Two-Bit and I are hanging out for it. But what's really holding us together is the thought of getting a two week break over Christmas and New Year. Two-Bit and I will be coming home on the 19_ _th_ _December._

If it wasn't for that I'm sure I wouldn't last. I chew on the end of the pen, debating what I should and shouldn't leave out. What can I say, the last two weeks have been awful. Was I getting used to it? Sort of. The early mornings were easy enough, the P.T. I can do no worries, though quite a lot of the guys really struggle with it. I've always been good at running. The drill sergeants yell at you non-stop, and then there was the endless drill, jogging double time with 50 pound packs on our back and if we don't get it right, the sergeants gets hell pissed. He starts yelling _, 'Charlie is going to get you and you are going to die!'_ Generally he likes to single me out. Starts yelling in my face, _'That'll be you, Private Curtis! You can glare at me all you want, but do you think Charlie's gonna care when you glare at him before he runs a bayonet through your gut.'_

I probably shouldn't put that in the letter. I've got pretty good at blocking out his voice by now. I put pen to paper.

 _It's been tough, kind of homesick a lot for the first couple of days, but it's getting better._

Only it isn't, but I'm not about to tell my brothers that. It's the homesickness that I struggle with the most.

 _They work us hard and by the time my head hits the pillow I fall straight to sleep. We get up at five in the morning and the day doesn't stop. We get about five minutes to scoff breakfast down before they march us out to the training grounds._

 _Two-Bit tries to stir up the drill sergeant on a daily basis, which makes me laugh. I don't think Two-Bit's ever been so fit with the amount of push-ups the sergeant gives him._

I know part of the reason Two-Bit tries to annoy the sergeant is so he doesn't hone in on me so much. And because he's Two-Bit, he can't help the wise cracks.

 _Two-Bit cracks everyone up in our platoon. He kinda keeps us all sane. There's another guy, Rick, who does the best impression of Drill Sergeant Whitehead, who's in charge of our platoon. Our drill sergeant is a jerk. However, the guys in my platoon are pretty cool, most of us come from the lower or working class parts of town. In just two weeks we've probably started to bond a bit already. Of course your always gonna get a couple of idiots, but no one likes them much anyway, so it's all good._

 _I'm not the only 18 year old, but I am the youngest! Seems to be the story of my life. Out of the 40 guys in the platoon, five are 18, though Joe's gonna turn 19 by the time we graduate basic training._

It seems forever, and the last two weeks have already dragged by. I ran a hand over my head, feeling the short stubble of hair. I don't care what the barber said on the first day, I still have gotten used to it.

 _It's starting to get cold, the mornings are freezing and the nights. They only issued us two blankets. I sleep with a beanie on my head, thanks to lack of hair, all courtesy of becoming a solider for the United States Army. I'd probably appreciate it a lot better if it were the middle of summer. I hear it gets really hot and humid here at that time of year._

I try to sound a little upbeat. I don't want them to pick up on how down I sometimes get. I'd hate to think just how much worse it would have been if it weren't for Two-Bit. I'm fairly reserved around people I don't know so it takes me a while to let my guard down.

 _The second youngest guy here, after me, is Geoff. He's looks and talks as if he's just stepped out of that old television show, Leave it to Beaver. He's the spitting image of Theodore. He ain't a bad kid. We get along alright. He's one of those guys who tries to be funny, but just isn't. Sometimes it can be annoying._

 _Most of the guys are aged 19 and 20, there are some older guys like Two-Bit, who are in their early 20's. Two-Bit is the second oldest at 23._

 _You don't need to worry about me not eating enough, Darry. I've been trading my four cigarettes with Two-Bit's chocolate bar when we get our ration packs for lunch. That means I get to eat two chocolate bars and smoke less._

 _It's a tough choice that one, my love for chocolate versing my cigarette addiction. I'm certainly smoking a lot less, just never much time for it. Except in the evenings, we all puff away as we polish our boots and battle starch our khaki greens for the following day._

 _Life is strictly routine in the Army. Every day is much the same. Every Saturday we have an inspection._

I swear to god, Sergeant Whitehead takes twice as long to inspect my bunk, always looking for something to be wrong and generally he'll find the most smallest, nick picking thing like I'll have a speck of toothpaste in my toothbrush. It just gives him an excuse to holler at me some more.

 _Then there is the Physical Combat Proficiency Test which requires you to use the overhead ladder. The minimum requirement is 36 rungs in 60 seconds. I do 60 rungs. I hold the record._

Have to brag about something, I muse. I always enjoy the sour expression on the sergeant's face when I'm done. He can't fault anything I do physically. I also hold the record for the mile run too.

 _The food isn't great but I'm that hungry I don't care. We get longer to eat at dinner time and can have a second helping, if there's anything left. I'm always hungry now because of the amount of P.T. we do. By the time I get home I won't be so scrawny anymore and we'll have a wrestling much, let's see who wins now!_

I manage a smile at that. I know it doesn't matter how much P.T. I do, I'll never beat Darry in a wrestling match, but it's still fun to try. Shit, but damn I can feel the all too familiar homesickness wash over me. That's another reason why I've put off writing to my brothers. It makes me think of home.

Two-Bit sits down next to me. "Hey, Pony, what'cha doing?"

He peers over my shoulder. "Finally writing to Darry and Soda, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah," I sigh, avoiding Two-Bit's questioning gaze.

"Hey, can I add something?" he asks.

"Okay, just let me finish this sentence."

 _Two-Bit wants to add some lines, probably to get his Two-Bit worth in and don't believe anything he says._

Two-Bit takes the pen from me.

 _As if I'm gonna say anything bad about, Pony. The kid can hold his own. You'd be proud of him. Drill Sergeant is a jerk, but they're all like that here. They tell us there preparing you for war by shouting in ya face every second of the day, but I reckon the old missus back home ain't givin' it to them and so they take it out on us, ha, ha. I'm dead serious here._

I roll my eyes.

 _Don't worry, I'm looking after the kid, make him laugh when he needs it. Man, I'm gonna be so fit when I get back home. Getting up early in the mornings is a bitch though._

 _Alright I'll give ya back to Ponyboy._

I take the pen from Two-Bit's hand, a lump lodges in my throat. The words on the page begin to blur. I swear under my breath and bury my face in my hands, ashamed by the tears.

"It's alright, Ponyboy. I know this it tough for ya. He attempts to ruffle what little hair I have. "Just finish it up as best ya can."

 _Well, not much else to say. Miss you both like crazy. Don't worry, Two-Bit keeps me entertained._

 _All's good. See you on the 19_ _th_ _of December. That's only four weeks and six days away, I think._

 _Ponyboy X_

I'm glad that's over. Lowering the pen to the table, I fold the letter and put it in the envelope. I can feel Two-Bit watching me, his forehead creasing with concern.

"I'm alright," I mutter. "Just get homesick."

"It's only been two weeks, kid. It'll get better."

I nod. Maybe it might, time will only tell.

* * *

The days blur into each other. And sometimes I'm okay. I can do this, I think to myself. Then there are just shit days, when I want to go home so badly that I feel like tearing my hair out, and I'm even denied that right because my half an inch length of hair doesn't allow for it. But I have one thing that I cling on to; the weekend pass. It came around quicker than I thought. Then the day is here and I have to pinch myself. I'm getting off base. I can visit shops, buy a Pepsi and eat a decent meal even. Most importantly, I can finally call Darry and Soda and hear their voices again after four weeks.

The bus is set to take us into Leesville at 9.00am. I'm up way too early. I shower, get dressed in civilian clothes too and I can't stop fidgeting. I still have too much time to kill. I try reading a book as I sit on my bed but the words keep blurring. They issued me reading glasses that I didn't even know I needed to have in my first week here. That first week we had numerous health assessment, hearing and eyesight tests. I even had to have three fillings in my teeth. Two-Bit had to have eight fillings his teeth were that bad.

I haven't used the glasses, but out of sudden curiosity I pull them out of my foot locker. Taking the glasses out of the case, I frown down at the brown rimmed glasses. They ain't much to look at. I put them on and start reading the book and I'm astonished at how clear the words are. I never even realised just how bad my eyesight was. Reading becomes pleasurable again.

"Hey four eyes," Two-Bit teases as he returns from the showers. "So, ya finally decided to use them."

Two-Bit had found it rather hilarious that I needed glasses.

"I can read so easily now. Man, I wished I had them earlier. I would have made less mistakes with the ledgers when I worked at the bank."

"It's an interesting new look for ya, Pony," he grins.

I pull the glasses off my face and put them back in the foot locker. I often wondered why I would come home from work with a headache, now I know.

Feeling restless, I begin pacing.

"Bus ain't leaving for another half an hour, Ponyboy," Two-Bit tells me from his bunk as he puts his boots on.

He's wearing jeans, black t-shirt with a navy blue hooded jacket and it seems so strange seeing him dressed like that, even though it's only been four weeks it feels likes forever.

"A lot can go wrong in half an hour," I mutter.

I keep expecting Drill Sergeant Whitehead to come walking in and find some reason as to why I can't go.

"I think your safe, sergeants not that much of a prick …"

My eyebrows shoot up.

"Yeah, I sure had a great time cleaning the latrines till midnight last night."

I'm still trying to figure out what I had done to deserve it. All I did was lean in towards Jack, who was whispering something to me and next thing I know, the sergeant drags us aside and we're given extra chores. I know we're not allowed to talk when in formation, but I wasn't the one whispering!

"Yeah, that sucks. He does have it in for ya, but it's not just you. It's all the younger ones he targets."

I can hear the hint of anger in Two-Bit's voice. And it's true, the sergeant's even meaner to the fat guys. They soon learn to lose weight fast or continue to be ridiculed.

"But he's worse with me. I can't do anything right. I blink the wrong way and he'll find something to punish me with," I stress. "My existence in itself is enough to piss him off!"

I'm biting my thumb nail. I'll admit, it's getting to me.

"He's just baiting ya, Pony. He's waiting for you to snap, don't give the bastard the satisfaction."

I know it, doesn't make it any easier.

Two-Bit stands up. "How do I look? Do I pass as a Civvie?"

"Not with that hair."

He pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and slouches. "How about now?'

I grin. Both of us got hollered at so much for slouching in the first two weeks that we both no longer slouch in that customary greaser way.

"Guess you'll do," I remark.

"Let's see if I can persuade the cook assistant to slip us a muffin before we get on the bus," Two-Bit suggests.

Grabbing my beanie, I shove it on my head. "Sure."

We walk to the mess kitchen.

"You reckon we'll get spat on when we go into town?" I ask Two-Bit.

It's been in the papers. The war protest is in full force, which make us, who have no choice, feel even lousier.

"Anyone spit on me and I'll be spitting right back at 'em."

Two-Bit would. I don't know what I would do, if it was a guy definitely, but what if it were a girl? The write up in the paper last week said it were a group of girls that had spat at the returning shoulders, calling them, 'baby killers.' Despite not having any television, the new recruits would always bring in news and more rumours.

I can feel the sun's warmth on my face. It was going to be a beautiful day. The air smells fresh and clean. The weight of being in this place lifts. I feel okay.

"For two days and one night we get to be normal again," I murmur to Two-Bit.

"Man, am I hanging out for this."

"What are you gonna do?"

He glances sideways at me. "I'm gonna get so drunk tonight and Pony, it's ya turn to look out for me."

"Sure, I might have a beer too."

* * *

We check into a cheap motel in town, dump what little we have, a bag with a change of clothes and some toiletry items, in our room.

I lay back on the bed. It might not be much but it's a lot more comfortable than the bunk beds at base.

"I feel like I've just been let out of prison," I sigh.

Two-Bit drags me off the bed and we go into town. We go to the local Dairy Queen and eat so much we're almost sick. No one pays us much attention. I guess the town is so used to seeing recruits.

Two-Bit, just can't help himself, and steals two pipes from the smoke shop.

"What do ya want with pipes," I hiss in his ear.

He buys a pouch of tobacco and we go outside. As I light up a cigarette I watch bemused as Two-Bit stuffs tobacco into the pipes.

"What are you doing?"

He glances, frowns and promptly pulls the cigarette from my hand. "Cigarettes are for boys."

He hands me a pipe. "We separate the men from the boys in the United States Army, son."

He attempts to light his pipe. "We're real men now, Ponyboy."

I smile and shake my head.

A woman in her 60's walks by.

"Morning, maam," he nods in passing.

She doesn't know what to make of it. He continues to do this as we walk down the street and people give us weird looks. I'm trying to remain nonchalant the whole time.

"C'mon, Pony, ya not smoking enough."

"It's making my head spin.

"I'm trying to make a man out of ya, boy. This will put some hair on ya chest."

"I already have hair on my chest."

Two-Bit just cracks up laughing. "Yeah, I'll just go get a magnifying glass to see it with."

I turn to look at him. "Ha, ha, yeah, the joke is on me."

We sit down on a park bench and continue to puff on the pipes. I think about the nearly three weeks till the Christmas break. Unfortunately, we have to come back for one more week after and then we graduated from basic training. I can't wait till I never have to see Sergeant Whitehead's mean and ugly face ever again.

"I'm just gonna have to develop a tough hide," I murmur out loud.

Two-Bit knows what I'm talking about.

"Man, that jerk is enough to suck the life out of the sun," he mutters. "When ya gonna ring Darry and Soda?"

"They'll probably be working till five. I'll call at six."

"Yeah, looking forward to getting some gossip from home."

"Don't tell 'em about the sergeant picking on me," I quickly implore. "They'll just worry and it's not as if anyone can do anything about it."

"Yeah, sure kid, but it might help if you tell them. It ain't good to bottle things up."

"I got you for that."

"I'm a poor substitute for ya brothers."

I shake my head, because that's not true.

"Sometimes I'm glad it's you here and not them," I say and I mean it.

Two-Bit looks strangely touched for a minute.

"Shoot, Kid. Let's go find the tavern. I haven't had a drink in nearly a month."

I had a whole two beers with him, which is a lot for me. It sort of went to my head a bit, but then I brought and ate a hamburger and felt okay afterwards. I'm both dreading and looking forward to talking to my brothers. I guess I'm dreading it because I know how homesick I'm gonna feel. I know I have to get use to leaving them and it's been four weeks. I should be over it by now, right?

I watch Two-Bit entertaining a couple of the guys from our Platoon. Most of us have found a way to the tavern by the end of the day. I glance at my watch and it's 5.45pm. Darry and Soda should be home by now.

I drag Two-Bit out of the tavern. He's already half drunk.

"Man, I can't believe how quick those beers went to my head."

We find a payphone, I put the coins in and my hand shakes as I dial the number. The phone takes forever to ring and then I think it's gonna ring out before anyone answers. Finally I familiar voice says, "Hello, Daryl Curtis."

Sudden emotion makes my voice constrict. "D-Darry," I manage to stutter.

There is silence for a moment before Darry exclaims. "Ponyboy!"

Nothing has ever sounded so good than my brother's voice. I fight back the tears and clutch the phone tightly in my hand. "Yeah, it's me."

"You okay?"

I nod, then realise he can't see me. "I'm okay, I'm okay." Before I have chance to ask 'how are you' I find myself bombarded with a dozen questions. I hear the stress and worry in Darry's voice. I'm trying to keep my emotions in check.

After a few minutes, Two-Bit takes the phone from me, allowing me a couple of minutes to compose myself.

"It's alright big guy, the kid gets homesick. He's a bit overwhelmed, give him a moment to get it together."

I need the breather.

As usual Two-Bit is embarking on the more humorous moments of basic training, not that there's much in that and only Two-Bit would find anything funny there.

When Two-Bit hands the phone back to me I'm a lot calmer.

I tell Darry a lot more than I thought I would. I even tell him about Sergeant Whitehead, who has it in for me. Darry gives me advice, much like what Two-Bit's already told me. Then I talk to Soda. And we manage to have a bit of a laugh. I keep feeding the phone, watching my collection of coins dwindle away, knowing that this can't last. Nothing ever does last for long. It's been so long since I've last talked to my brothers and for a little while the dark shadows are held at bay, until that very last coin goes in and I know my time is nearly over.

I give a farewell. I can hear from Soda's tone of voice that he's finding it just as hard to hold himself together as I am. Then the money runs out and the line is dead.

I stare numbly at the phone. Just like that, I'm cut off from my brothers once again.

"C'mon, Pony, let's got back to the tavern."

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"You go ahead, I'll be there soon."

Two-Bit goes back to the tavern, but I can't bring myself to socialise. For a moment I just stand in one spot as the enormity of where I am hits me hard. I reel for a minute. A bus zooms by and I fight the urge to jump on it. Instead I walk down the street, hands shoved in my pockets. I don't quite know what to do with myself. I feel hollow inside, lost and alone.

Next thing I know I find myself walking to the cemetery. I don't know why. No one understands my need to go to a place where only dead people reside. I don't understand it either. Only, I find it strangely peaceful.

I always feel closer to Johnny, and it never seems to matter what cemetery it is. Soon as I walk along the narrow pathways that separate the graves I can almost sense him walking alongside of me.

I don't feel alone anymore. My breath comes out in puffs of smoke from the cold night air.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need too.

It's a mutual thing that only I and Johnny get.

.

.

.

* * *

.

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 **A/N:** I'm not sure what I think of this chapter? I try to give a glimpse into basic training and how Ponyboy adjusts to it.I can't help thinking it feels a bit like a filler chapter at times. Let me know what you think. As always, reviews are very much appreciated and do inspire me to write.

Cheers


	5. Chapter 5

**_._**

* * *

 ** _Chapter Five._**

* * *

I remember counting down to the school holidays as a kid, but school was a picnic compared to this place. Now, I count down the hours, not just days till I have holidays again. I might not have to fear the cane if I screw up, but it's just as bad, if not worse. The Sergeant always finds other physical means of torture, where he doesn't have to lay a single finger on me. He'll make me hold my gun above my head till my stomach muscles burn. I try to refrain from groaning because I don't want to give the jerk the satisfaction, but its agony. Eventually, I'll fall to the ground, gasping for air, clutching my stomach. Tears burning at the back of my eyes.

The rest of the Platoon name this place, 'Fort Puke Lousyana' and it ain't without reason.

I just want out of this place. I want to sleep in a comfortable bed. I want to eat edible food. I want … to be a normal person again. Just your average Joe Blogs, go work in a nine to five job during the week like I use to, and have weekends to do as I please. I don't gotta get yelled at all of time. I don't gotta get put through some kind of physical torture. I don't gotta get to scrub floors with a toothbrush because a particular Drill Sergeant hates 18 year old's and fat guys.

Then the day comes when I only have two days to go till I get to go home and see my brothers. I get a whole two weeks off, celebrate Christmas and New Year's Eve like a regular person. My frame of mind is pretty good. I've managed to survive seven weeks of basic training and being treated like I'm the lowest life form out there.

I'm even smiling more than usual. I try not to show it when the sergeant is around, 'cause I know he'll find some way to wipe that smile off my face. And sure enough it doesn't take long before he does. It's not just me either. Every day he singles out a couple of people and sends them down to the barbers to get their hair shaved back to what it was like when we first arrive here. Any maybe my hair might have barely grown an inch, but it's still better than being nearly practically bald. I hate feeling like I'm being punished for something I've never done, or like I'm a prisoner of war from some damn German Jewish camp.

So, I'm really pissed off when he sends me and six other guys to the barbers just two days before I have to go home. It couldn't have waited till I got back after the two week break? _Don't be stupid, Pony_ , I chide, _naturally he's gonna want to make you feel miserable before ya have to go home._

Sure, I'll suck it up, but I'm still pissed and how come Two-Bit manages to get away with anything and everything? I don't get it?

So as much as I'm spewing as I walk back to the barracks after going through the humiliating process of having what little hair I do have shorn once again, I shove my hands in my pockets and get back into formation. Two-Bit doesn't say anything, because there's nothing really much to say.

I swore I'll never let the Army break me, but damn as if they don't try to and I don't know how long I can hold out. I know I'm tougher and a lot stronger than I was when I first arrived here. I see the changes. I don't like it, but I can't stop it. They are slowly but surely turning me into something I don't want to become.

* * *

The trip home seems to go quicker, or maybe it's because I'm so tired I kind of sleep away half of it. I'm a bit quieter than normal. Two-Bit doesn't say much either. I think he's too busy thinking about his mom and kid sister. We both received the news yesterday that we're headed for Tigerland, an eight week Advanced Infantry Training with a guaranteed one way ticket to Nam at the end of it. I knew I was gonna end up there anyway, at least 80% of the Platoon ends up there. The enormity of it hasn't sunk in. I don't know how I'm going to tell Darry and Soda about it. I'm already dreading the emotional fall out. Even Two-Bit's face paled when we found out and the first thing he had muttered was, _'how I'm gonna tell the old girl?'_

I know, he's been sending most of his pay home to support them. He makes out like he doesn't give a shit, but he does.

This is all my fault. I'm responsible for Two-Bit going to Nam. He only joined to protect me in place of one of my brothers. Part of me knows Two-Bit uses humor to deal with the shit in his life. I've barely given much thought to how he's coping with basic training. Because he jokes so much you just don't think anything is wrong with him. I never thought I'd see the day when I would admire him; but suddenly I do.

* * *

We arrive in Tulsa, right on 5.00pm. The sun is low in the sky, almost about to set. The sky is filled with orange and pink clouds. It's beautiful and I feel free for the first time in nearly two months. Soda is there to pick us up. Shit, but if he ain't a sight for sore eyes. I don't think he recognizes me straight away, until he finds himself caught up in my arms in a bear hug.

"Ponyboy," he exclaims in astonishment.

"I kinda lift him off the ground. I'm definitely a lot stronger, now I fear I'll squish the life out of him and I let go.

He grins stupidly at me. "Shoot, Pony, what do they feed ya in that place?"

"You don't wanna know," I reply. "It's just slosh."

His eyes rake over me, before resting on my face.

"You look taller," he begins, "Did ya grow or something, Pony?"

"Nah," Two-Bit says next to me, "He's just not slouching for a change."

Soda removes my cap and I feel a bit self-conscious. His eyes widen in shock.

"Jeez Pony, you weren't kidding about the hair in ya letter."

"I know it looks awful and I don't look like me anymore," I grumble, taking the cap from him and shoving it on my head.

Soda drags his eyes away from me and looks at Two-Bit.

"Hey, Two-Bit. Wow, you guys … you just look so different in ya uniforms and all."

"We look like men now," Two-Bit says.

Soda doesn't get it and frowns. I hide a quick smile.

"Just ignore him," I say, "It's just a stupid thing they drill into our heads when we first start."

We all climb into the car. Soda offers to drive Two-Bit home.

* * *

"Your mom know ya comin' home?" Soda asks.

"Nah, thought I would surprise her," Two-Bit returns.

Again, I have to wonder what Two-Bit is really feeling inside.

"Darry's cookin' your favorite meal tonight, Pony," Soda continues.

"I'm looking forward to eating real food," I tell him.

Every now and again, Soda shoots me a sideways glance as if he can't believe I'm actually here, and I see the amazement in his eyes.

We share a grin, because I'm feeling the same way.

I let Two-Bit do most of the talking. He's better at talking about our experiences in basic training, and makes plenty of funny anecdotes. I already know my brothers will grill me about everything that has happened there later tonight as it is.

* * *

We drop Two-Bit off at his house and he gives us a wave goodbye. It's kind of odd, but I sort of miss him already. We've basically lived in each other's pockets for the last seven weeks. Him, making me laugh, making me hold it all together and not lose my shit.

Soda continues to drive to our house. "I'm so happy," he exclaims. "You, home again, Pony. Man, it ain't been the same with ya gone."

I can't even begin to describe how happy I am as it's been a while since I last felt this way.

* * *

I'm sort of a bit nervous when I open the front door. Nothing has changed. The place is still messy but homely. The smell of roast chicken wafts through the air and my mouth begins to water. My stomach grumbles and I'm reminded of what little food I've eaten today. I've been to wound up to eat.

Soda frowns and looks at me. "Is that ya stomach, Pony?"

"It smells so good and I'm starving ..." my words end there as Darry appears. His expression sums up everything I've been feeling these last seven weeks.

"Ponyboy?!" I don't know if that's a statement or question.

Of course it's me, intact still. There is such relief in his eyes that it makes my throat constrict.

I find myself caught up in his strong embrace, which I can kind of match now. He pulls back, his eyes taking in my appearance.

"Not so scrawny anymore little brother of mine," he says.

I can see he is really relieved about that. I wide smile crosses my face as I remember how much he worried about me not eating well. "Told ya so."

He grins in return. "You look good, Ponyboy," he continues. "Fit and healthy."

His words make me sort of glow. Like the approval of a parent I kind of still seek. My dad was creative and original. I know I get my quirkiness from him. He was always encouraging me. We were a rarity in this neighborhood, we still had parents who were together and not only that, we still had parents who didn't fight, that respected and loved each other. Until we lost it all.

Nothing gold remains and don't I know it.

I'm not so young anymore but that doesn't stop me from wanting Darry to play that father role. He knows it too.

"There's something different about you," he muses, a slight puzzled frown dents his forehead.

"Yeah," I mutter, "the hair."

Darry shakes his head. "Nah, like you are older now, not such a kid anymore."

I sort of stiffen, not that Darry knows any differently, but the sergeant words ' _we separate the men from the boys'_ comes back to mind.

"I guess they do that to ya in the Army," I say. "You kinda have to grow up quickly."

Both of my brothers are staring at me, probably trying to gauge where I am at.

"That sergeant still giving you a hard time, Pony?" Darry asks.

"Sometimes." Like most of the time, but I'm not about to tell them that. I can already tell Soda doesn't believe me.

Given Darry's frown, he probably doesn't believe me either.

"Can I just get out of this uniform, it feels so weird standing in my house wearing it," I mutter.

"Yeah, sure Ponyboy. You know where ya bedroom is."

I nod, grab my duffle bag and make a hasty retreat to my bedroom.

* * *

It's strange how different everything feels. It all looks the same but just that I'm not. I'm glad to get out of the uniform and change back into regular clothes, blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Only now it's so cold I search through my drawers looking for something warm to wear. I find a grey windcheater and pull it on, surprised by how much more snug it is. My muscles are well defined now, I'm still lean, just not such a bean pole. I'm not sure how I feel about it.

I go into the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth and stare at my reflection in the mirror. It's like I'm looking at a different person. It ain't me. Is this how Soda and Darry see me now? Maybe because when I last looked in the mirror it was a different person who stared back at me. Someone who still had hair, I inwardly mutter, but it's not just that. It's as Darry said before, I'm older. I see it. It leaves an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don't like change.

Turning away from the mirror, I make my way to the kitchen. Sometimes I wish I didn't think so much. It would make my life a lot easier.

Soda is setting the table. Darry's serving up the dinner. Roast chicken and potatoes. I love potatoes in any which way, roasted, mashed and especially as fries.

Both Soda and Darry stop what they are doing and stare at me. It's a bit unnerving, or maybe because they haven't seen me in so long I look as odd to them as I did to myself a moment ago.

"What?" I frown.

Sodapop shakes his head, pats me on the back as he continues to set the table.

"Sorry, Pony. Just been so long since we've last seen you at the dining table and you just hold yourself real differently now."

"You don't slouch anymore," Darry adds, putting the plates on the table. "Your back is real straight too."

"Those drill sergeants really give ya a hard time about posture and mine was pretty bad at the start," I shrug. "I guess it's kinda started to take effect."

That happens when someone yells in ya face every minute of the day, I feel like adding.

Darry's hand rest on my shoulder, he gives it an affectionate squeeze. His eyes rest on my hair, a slight scowl dents his forehead.

"I remember Pete telling me how much they like to demoralize you during basic training," he says, a wistful note in his voice which puzzles me. "But he also said it ain't like that once ya leave and get to the real work."

You mean the battleground Darry, I think mutely, knowing he can't bring himself to say it.

"He sure is right about that," I mutter. "Those drill sergeants love nothin' more than to make our lives a misery along with plenty of humiliation. They tell us every day that were the lowest of the low, even lower than whale shit. They don't stop hollering, calling ya names I won't repeat here."

I take a deep breath. Okay, I've probably said too much given the slightly upset look on Soda's face.

"That sucks," he murmurs sympathetically. "Why do they do that?"

"It's supposed to prepare as for war but I don't see how?"

Darry's hand that is still on my shoulder, tightens. I see the concern in his eyes.

"They do it to mentally toughen you up. Don't let it get to you, Pony."

I nod. "I try not to and ya get used to after a while. Two-Bit gives 'em a bit of cheek, makes us laugh."

Darry manages a smile.

"Now let's go sit down and eat."

Yes, food. I'm starving. Food can be strangely soothing at times.

We start talking as normal. Soda chats about work. Darry talks about College. I listen with rapt attention because for once I feel like I'm in the land of the normal again. Just normal people, talking about normal everyday stuff.

The food tastes so good that I pile more roast potatoes on my plate.

Darry and Soda go quiet and I look up to find them both staring at me again.

"I've not see you eat so much," Soda says in awe.

"Yeah, well you ain't tasted Army food," I quip. "I ain't had food like this in ages."

"Well, at least food ain't wasted on you anymore little brother," Darry says, sounding pleased.

* * *

Soda and I do the dishes afterwards. I wash and Soda dries up. We mess around. I flick soap suds at him. He flicks me with the tea towel and we end up having a tea towel fight. I haven't laughed so much in a long while. Normally Darry would be hollering at us by now, but I think he's finding it soothing. Like old times. It sure does feel almost as if I've never left.

* * *

We end up playing polka and I'm glad it's just me and my brothers here for my first night home. Things are beginning to return to a sense of normalcy now. I don't feel quite so strange and different. Darry has a new house rule that we smoke outside and as I'm probably the only one of us who is addicted to cigarettes I don't even bother to have one. It's like I can't even leave my brothers for five minutes to go outside to have a smoke.

* * *

I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but I wake up dead on 5.00am. It's just what my body clock is set at now. I go for a run. It's dark and cold outside. After my run I stop by the store to buy a paper and then I head home. I have a quick shower, make myself a hot chocolate and grabbing my reading glasses from my duffle bag I sit down at the table to read the paper. I never get this luxury on base.

Of course the headline reads; _'Vietnam Takes its Toll, 16,592 American soldiers Killed in Action in the last 12 months'. The heaviest to date since the start of the war. Despite President Nixon proclaiming back in June that the Vietnam War was coming to a conclusion, there still has been no evidence of that happening._

I'm so engrossed in what I'm reading I don't hear Darry enter the kitchen till he speaks.

"What's with the glasses?"

I don't even look up. "I'm apparently farsighted, or is that nearsighted," I frown. "Can't remember which one."

"Really," Darry muses, and leans over my shoulder. "What 'ya reading there that's got you so engrossed, Pony?"'

I don't have the chance to do much about what Darry reads and I know he's read the grim headline in its bold black letters. He's so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"I just like to know what's going on there," I sigh. I already have a very good idea of what I'm in for when I get to Nam. The drill sergeants remind of us that every day.

"You don't even know if you'll go to Nam …" Darry begins.

"Yeah, I do."

I hadn't wanted to tell them yet. I just wanted to enjoy being home for a bit first, but well I guess there's never gonna be a good time. I take the glasses off my face and gaze up at Darry, who has kinda frozen on the spot.

"Two-Bit and I found out a day before we came home," I swallow, averting my eyes from Darry's distraught face. "We're going to Tigerland after we graduate. We do eight weeks of advance infantry training and then we get posted to Nam."

His jaw twitches. He looks ready to blow. "I worked two jobs for years so they wouldn't put you in a boy's home," he growls, raking a hand through his hair. "And now there ain't a damn thing I can do about the Army sending you out to combat at 18. You ain't even old enough to have a damn beer, but ya old enough to have a rifle put in your hands and get trained to kill people!"

His voice has risen. I've never seen him so angry. He suddenly grabs the newspaper from the table, screwing it up in his hands, he storms outside. The front door slams shut behind him and I sit there, rooted to the spot. My heart is pounding in my chest, I can hear the blood rushing to my ears.

Soda comes stumbling into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

I can't bring myself to answer. A worried frown creases Soda's forehead. "Ponyboy … what is wrong? Where is Darry? Why did he storm out of the house?"

I feel him grab me by the shoulders. I don't know how to tell him because it hurts too much. It hurts watching my brothers get so upset and I know what I have to say will devastate Soda. I can't face it. I have to get out of here.

"I don't know," I mutter in a hoarse voice, getting to my feet.

I wildly spin around and run out of the house. I hear Soda calling after me, but I don't stop. I can't stop. The intensity of the emotions swirling around inside of me is too much for me to bear. Running is the only way I can get it out of my system. The sun rises over the hills but I'm too distressed to notice its beauty.

I head for the cemetery. Darry's words haunt me: _You ain't even old enough to have a damn beer, but ya old enough to have a rifle put in your hands and get trained to kill people_.

I don't want to kill people. I don't want to play soldier. I don't want to see my brother's keep hurting and worrying about me.

What if Two-Bit dies over there? How am I to ever gonna live with knowing that the only reason he's there is because of me.

* * *

I pace under the big willow tree near my parent's grave. A sob catches in my throat. I don't bother to stop the tears. I run my hands over my head in despair. It's like my life has been stolen from me along with my own self-identity. It takes every ounce of self-constraint to pull myself together.

Taking in a deep ragged breath, I sit back on a wooden seat, draw my legs up and rest my forehead on my knees. I don't know how long I've sat there like that. I block every thought in my head and just listen to the sounds around me. I feel the cool chilly breeze against my face, hear the sound of birds and traffic in the distance. Gradually my tears dry up, and some semblance of calmness washes over me.

"Ponyboy," I hear a voice and know its Sodapop.

I look up. He's standing there, hair tousled by the wind and his eyes filled with compassion. Next thing I know, he's sitting down next to me, wrapping his arms around me. I lean my head against his shoulder. Soda is the only person I ever let my total guard down with, apart from Johnny, we've always had an emotional connection. Ever since I was born, my mom use to tell me. Soda would just play with me for hours and hours. I would follow him all about the place and I would sit on the front porch waiting for him to come home from school.

"I heard ya going to Nam," he murmurs his voice thick with emotion. "Darry told me."

"He came home?" I ask.

"Yeah, he was pretty upset to find ya gone but I said that you needed your space and that I'll know where to find ya and he's mad with himself for the way he handled it."

Yeah, I can see Darry beating himself up about it.

"How did ya know where to find me?"

"You're pretty predictable, Pony. I sure as hell don't get why ya like cemeteries so much, but then you've always been kinda different, like dad."

His words are soothing. Least my differences are inherited.

"It's kinda of peaceful," I tell him. "Like there ain't no more sorrow, or pain here."

I'm not sure if Soda gets it, but it doesn't matter.

"You always think too much, Pony," he says, hugging me. "Hey, maybe we can run away to Canada so you don't go to Nam."

I manage a brief smile. "Live on a farm and buy two horses, we can get Mickey Mouse back. You and me … we'd go riding every day."

Soda's eyes shone. "Man, what I wouldn't give for that."

Silence falls for a moment as I imagine that other perfect life that ain't ever gonna happen. At least the Army can't take my dreams from me but I am duty bound.

"I'm afraid I've already been too indoctrinated to go AWOL," I softly murmur.

"Jeez, Pony, don't say that."

"They like brain wash you," I continue.

Worry flickers across Soda's face.

"They'll tell you on the first day that they're gonna separate the men from the boys and it's true. Even Darry said yesterday that I'm not such a kid anymore, that I'm older."

"Course ya older, Pony. Can't be a kid forever."

His words are oddly soothing. He's right. Circumstance are forcing me to grow up a bit quicker than normal but I'm gonna have to grow up at some point in time.

"You know I still wish it was me going with ya," Soda sighs. "It should be me."

"It shouldn't be anyone," I mutter darkly. "Because if something happens to Two-Bit I have to live with it."

Silence falls again. God, I sound so … this is where I need a dose of Two-Bit's humor.

"C'mon let's go home," I suggest and hoist Soda to his feet.

We walk in the brisk morning air. "Man, its cold," I mutter, my teeth chattering. I'm beginning to feel it now and I'm not wearing the beanie.

Soda throws an arm around my neck. He runs a hand over my hair, rubs my ear.

"Jeez, Pony. Ya ears are like ice blocks."

"Tell me something I don't know."

We muck around, play fight and wrestle each other on our way home as it eases the tension and it makes us laugh. I like it when Soda acts silly. It's feels like we're kids again. Like nothing has changed.

.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Please review! Least then I know if people are getting into this story. Tell me what you liked the most as that way I get to know what you are enjoying about this story.

Updates have been quick so far but it'll slow down as I've posted all that I've written to date on this story. I have a truckload of exams to mark so my writing will depend on two things here on out: time and inspiration.

Thanks for reading.

Cheers

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Not too much angst in this chapter, just lots of brotherly bonding and friendship building.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter Six.**_

* * *

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I guess the worse of the news was out of the way now which is sort of a relief. When Soda and I return to the house, Darry just hugs me, says his sorry.

I tell him I get it. I'm pissed too. And then we just put it behind us, because I don't want my holidays to be ruined. There's not a lot anyone can do about it.

Two-Bit calls by shortly after, along with Steve and its one happy reunion. The house is noisy. Two-Bit has everyone laughing, as he always does.

Steve assesses me. Much to my annoyance, he runs a hand over my head and smirks. "Nice buzz cut, Pony." He likes to wind me up but I don't really care. After having drill sergeants yelling in my face day in and day out there's not much that can goad me now.

He raises an eyebrow in approval. "You developed some muscles, kid?"

"I bet the kid could beat you in an arm wrestle," Two-Bit pipes up.

Steve scowls. "Alright, let's see if he can."

We sit down at the table. I'm itching for this. I have enough palpable rage bubbling beneath the surface to draw on. I'm so gonna beat him, and I'm gonna relish in the moment.

"You're lookin' determined there, Ponyboy," Steve comments as we clasp hands.

"That's 'cause I'm gonna win."

"We'll see about that," he says giving me a steely eyed look. "You ready?"

I nod. "Yep."

Then it was on. Our hands interlock as we push hard. I'll admit Steve is damn strong, he's built like a tank these days. He's not tall like Darry but he's solid. I might be lean, but I'm really pissed off with life at the moment. I think of Drill Sergeant Whitehead and how much I hate him. I feel the anger course through me and that's all it takes. With one last fiercely determined push, I shove Steve's hand to the table.

Something akin to shock registers on Steve's face. He jumps up from the table. "You just got a lucky break."

"Sore loser," I retort. Man, it feels good to say that to him.

Two-Bit's grinning and looking mighty pleased with himself. "Told you so."

Steve doesn't look happy.

"C'mon, we'll go again then," I suggest, smiling in a smug way.

Steve scowls at me. "Don't get cocky, kid."

"He ain't a kid no more," Two-Bit begins, placing his hands on my shoulders. "He's a man now," he continues in a deep voice.

I roll my eyes. Steve looks at Soda, who's grinning in amusement because he now gets it. "You see that, Soda. I just got beaten by your kid brother," he mutters, "Screw that, let's get to work, we're gonna be late."

"Hey, Pony. Have a good day," Soda says as he leans over and kisses me on top of my head making feel every bit a kid again. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

I get to my feet, pushing my chair back and still feeling on a high. I beat Steve. I actually beat him.

"Yeah I gotta get to College," Darry says, grabbing his wallet and keys from the bench. He glances my way. "You'll be okay, Ponyboy?"

"Don't worry, Darry," Two-Bit begins, putting an arm around me. "Pony and me are just gonna get drunk, hopefully pick up some girls and get laid so he can become a real man."

I elbow Two-Bit in the ribs. "What's to say I ain't already?"

Two-Bit looks at me. "So have ya, or, are ya still a virgin, Pony?"

Color creeps into my cheeks. How the hell did we get onto this topic?

Darry shakes his head. "I'll leave the two of you to figure it out." Darry already knows I haven't done much in the way with girls. By the look of it, they all do. Okay, so I'm the odd one out, as usual, there is nothing new about that. So what if they all started at 15 or 16. I'm just a bit slow at some things.

Darry, fondly grips my shoulder on his way out the door and I find Two-Bit's eyes alight with amusement.

"Aww, that's kind of sweet, Pony. You still a virgin and all," he teases.

"Whatever you do Pony," Darry calls out, "Don't let Two-Bit pick a girl out for you."

"You saying I have lousy taste?" Two-Bit calls back, but Darry has already left the house.

"You only like blondes," I point out. "With big boobs."

He frowns. "What's wrong with that and what color hair does that girl you like from the bank have?"

"Light brown," I reply.

Two-Bit, looking bored already, sticks his head in the fridge. "Where's the chocolate cake?"

"Gone."

He turns around, scowling.

"You know it's the quick or the dead around here," I grin. "We can make another one."

"Alright, I'm starving."

I grab a mixing bowl from the cupboard. Two-Bit sits up on the bench, lights a cigarette. As usual, I'll have to do it all.

"Darry has a new rule. No smoking inside the house."

Two-Bit shrugs. "He ain't here."

I suddenly find myself hanging out for a cigarette. I haven't had one since last night, just before I went to bed. I pick up his packet and light one up. We're always helping ourselves to each other's things, although it does stop at the toothbrush.

Two-Bit has this speculation in his eyes and my own narrow. "What?"

"So why haven't ya got laid yet?"

I don't know what to say. "I'm still only 18, not that old," I point out.

"What are ya waiting for?" he continues.

I grab the flour canister. "I don't know, just … well do you see any girls beating down the doors here?"

"I get it, your suffering from performance anxiety disorder," he quips.

I flick flour at him.

"Alright, so you're a bit shy," he continues, dusting the flour of his face. "You didn't seem to have any problems talking to that red-headed chick at the drive-ins all those years ago."

Trust him to remember that, and I watch with amusement at the flour patches on his face, the ones he's missed. I don't bother to point them out.

"What's her name again?"

"Cherry," I automatically say and then curse myself

His eyes twinkle. "Haven't forgotten her, huh?"

I shrug as if it's nothing, but Two-Bit is extraordinarily observant and he doesn't miss a thing.

"Let me give ya some advice, Pony," he begins, "girls like her don't go out with guys like us."

"I know," I sigh, cracking an egg into the bowl.

"This is reality, kid."

Did I just detect a hint of bitterness in his voice? "If ya waiting for the right girl, you're gonna be waiting a long while. You might want to re-think it before we're shipped out to Nam."

I inwardly sigh. I know where Two-Bit is going with this. He wants me to experience a bit more of life in case I don't come back. Grabbing the wooden spoon from the drawer, I begin to stir in the ingredients.

"I ain't going to some whore house," I mutter.

"Shoot, kid. I don't blame ya that, but what about the girl from the bank?"

My shoulders stiffen.

"You should call her."

"Maybe," I return in an attempt to end this awkward conversation. Ain't no way I'm calling her up, there is no way I could face her after what happened last time. Me, in my stupidity, turning her offer to have sex down. My cheeks burn at the thought of it.

Maybe it's about time I put the focus back on him.

"You ever been in love?"

"I'm always falling in love, Pony," he grins.

"You mean lust," I add with a shake of my head.

Two-Bit butts his cigarette out in the sink. Turning the taps on, he flushes the butt down the drain. I frown knowing how much Darry hates that.

"Maybe one day, but don't know if I believe in love. Your old man was the only decent dad around, most are pricks like my old man. Guess that's why you still hold on to damn foolish romantic notions."

I don't know what to say. Two-Bit is always right about most things. I know his father never gave a shit about him. I can't imagine that.

I pour the cake into a tin and switch the oven on.

"You might surprise yourself one day," I say, "and fall in love."

"Maybe."

He pulls another cigarette out of his packet. I place the cake tin in the oven.

"You tell Darry and Soda about Nam?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, I was gonna wait but then Darry caught me reading the paper this morning and it came out."

"How did he take it?"

I recall the emotional fallout, take a breath. "Not good."

"It's gotta be tough for him when you've been his sole focus since your parents died."

Tough on all of us and must be for Two-Bit as well.

"You told your old girl?" I ask.

He runs a hand up the back of the neck. "Not yet. She's still mad as hell about me joining the Army. Shit is gonna hit the fan."

He didn't have to be doing this. This is my fault.

"Two-Bit," I begin. "You don't … you shouldn't have …"

He holds up a hand. "Don't say it, Ponyboy. You'all know I do what I want."

"And then if ya die I gotta live with it. I don't know if I can."

"I ain't gonna die, Ponyboy. Ain't good enough for that. No hero's death for me, but as for you … you can't play hero, Pony. And I know you like to, or rather ya can't help yourself, but it's different over there."

"Kids are still kids there too?"

"Course they are, that's the problem, and that ain't what I mean … just that, Pony. You have a tendency to wanna save everyone."

Silence falls. I stare out the window. Maybe he's right. I didn't think twice about saving those kids in the fire or the danger I put myself in. Neither had Johnny and it cost him his life. Still, Johnny died a hero at least and not just a hood. Ain't always a bad way to go. I know he made peace with himself, convinced himself those kids had a future when he didn't. _Their lives are worth more than mine, they have more to live for._

A lump lodges in my throat and I quickly push the memories away.

"Admiral as it is, Pony," Two-Bit continues. "Over there it's just about surviving and remaining intact for as long as 12 months."

I manage a nod. I don't wanna die, but sometimes I just can't picture the future. I don't know what I want or what I want to be. I don't think any of us really do, we really don't have a lot of options. Not like we're gonna be doctors or lawyers, or any real kind of professional. Though, I know Darry wants me to go to College, I don't know if I want to. I have no idea what I would do there whereas Darry knew what he wanted. Made more sense for him to go.

"Don't play hero," Two-Bit says again, as if he's gotta drill that into my head. "Darry will kill me if you come home in a body bag."

I see the stormy look in his eyes and know he means it.

"Is that why you're coming with me?" I ask. "To make sure I don't play hero?"

"Damn right."

He strikes a light to the cigarette dangling between his lips. I take another cigarette and we smoke in comparable silence for a moment, contemplating our future and if we'll even have one. The bond we share is a strong one. It's what holds all of us together, but there are times I wish that didn't mean following me to my death.

* * *

Two-Bit settles down with his overly generous serving of chocolate cake. I'm not hungry, my appetite has deserted me yet again, but I am restless. I start cleaning the kitchen. I can't stop. I'm so use to going all the time that I spend the whole morning cleaning. I scrub every surface, sink and stove until its practically sparkling.

"Ponyboy," Two-Bit complains, after I knock his feet off the coffee table to clean it. "You might find it hard to stop, but I find it really easy to go back to doing nothin'."

* * *

Eventually Two-Bit drags me out of the house. We catch the bus into town. I can't help but notice how we stick out like a sore thumb, especially now that long hair is the new fashion for guys and it ain't half obvious that Two-Bit and myself are in the Army. I try not to notice the looks of disapproval from young people as we pass them in the streets. Then there are the older people who sometimes stop and say, 'good on you, boys.' Unlike in Leesville where there were recruits everywhere, it sure ain't like that here. For the most part I shove my hands in my pockets and keep my head down. It doesn't appear to phase Two-Bit at all, but then nothing ever does, much.

We go to the local tavern and it's only a matter of time before a fight breaks out. Two-Bit and I have caught the attention of a couple of guys in the corner. They look pretty rough around the edges, with long unkempt hair and lots of tattoos. They keep glaring at us. It makes it hard to enjoy my Pepsi. Two-Bit sculls his beer, glares back at them.

"What'ya lookin' at, Pal?"

"My pals here have a problem with your sort," a guy with scruffy red hair and long sideburns states.

"Too gutless to resist the draft, kid," he jeers at me.

"Watch your mouth, punk," Two-Bit threatens. There's a steely glint in his gray eyes.

The red hair guy ignores him and hurls a lot of vile names our way, how we're the lowest scum out there, murderers and his buddies join in. It's like a regular slinging match. Welcome to the new world, I think mutely, but a certain rage begins to build up inside of me.

"Who's the gutless wonders here," I hurl back. "Ya ain't nothing but a bunch of cowards."

And then the fighting begins. I can't really recall who hit who first, but I do know it's four of them to just two of us. I've never liked fighting much, but this is different. I feel the adrenaline course through my veins. Side by side, Two-Bit and I fight. Seven weeks of combat training has helped immensely. There is no one who can beat Two-Bit in combat fighting, probably because he's been fighting since he was a kid. So have I, but mostly because I'm part of a gang, or, out of self-defense. I feel a fist connect with my cheek, stars swim before my eyes. I pull myself together in time to notice a black hair guy pull a switchblade from his pocket. Great, I'm gonna die before I even get to Nam and by my supposedly own countrymen at that. But not today. I ain't dying in this dump of a place. A white hot rage rolls over me and I lunge at him, twisting his hand behind his back, I shove him hard to the ground. He curses in pain. I pull the knife from his hand and hold it against his throat.

"You wanna die!" I growl. "I'm not a murderer yet but gotta start sometime."

I pull harder on his arm and feel his shoulder dislocate. He screams out in pain. I let him go and hold the knife out to the others who are slowly backing away.

"Whose next, c'mon, give it ya best?!"

Sirens sound off in the distance. The four of them stumble out the door and I feel Two-Bit tugging on my jacket.

"C'mon, let's slip out the back."

I follow him out the door, barely seeing anything, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. Much like this morning, I feel on a high, but even more so.

We run down the back alley till we know we're safe. We're both panting. Two-Bit and I look at each other in surprise, then we both grin. We start laughing.

"You," he splutters, "you were something else in there, Ponyboy."

"It felt kinda good."

He pats me on the back. "We make a fine team, you and I. We're a force to be reckoned with."

Putting an arm across my shoulders, we walk down the road. "Let's go buy a cartoon of beer and go back to your place. You'll need to put some ice on your cheek before Darry gets home."

Oh, crap, Darry.

* * *

By the time I get home I'm definitely over the high. My face is really stinging where I'd taken a slug to my cheek. I find an ice-pack in the freezer and inspect the damage in the bathroom mirror. The cheek is swelling and I have a cut on my lip, but apart from that I'm fine.

Darry comes home and notices the now spotless house.

"Place was a pigsty," I tell him lightly and hide a grin at the look of astonishment on his face. "Shoot, but I can't help it. I'm so used to cleaning that now I can't stop."

"Feel free, Pony. Place sure needs a lot doing to it …" his voice breaks off there when he notices my face. "What happened to you?"

"We got into a fight," Two-Bit says from his spot on the couch. "A couple of punks at the tavern started giving us a hard time about being in the Army. They were getting stuck into Pony, we had no choice but to fight them."

Well, technically speaking we probably could have ignored them, I think to myself. I imagine Two-Bit exclaiming: _'where is the fun in that.'_

Darry is still examining my face, I see the glint of anger in his eyes. "That's some shiner there," he mutters.

"I'm alright," I tell him. "You should see the other guys."

Two-Bit jumps up from the couch in sudden animation. "You should have seen Ponyboy. Man, he can fight real good now, what with all that combat training, he's real fast and strong. One of them pulled a knife on him and he disarmed him just like that," Two-Bit clicks his fingers for emphasis.

"I dislocated his shoulder," I add.

"Then he holds out the knife to the other three and yells, _whose next, give it ya best shot_ ' or something like that," Two-Bit continues.

I feel Darry's gaze carefully watching me this whole time, and I don't know what to make of it. Is he proud or is he worried? Maybe both. His hand rests on my shoulder.

"Good for you."

He blinks and I know he's finding it hard to take. He knows I have to toughen up if I stand any chance of surviving the war in Nam. However, I was always the sensitive one, like dad, a pacifier and not a fighter. I'm the dreamy kid, always existing in another world of my own making. Reality always sort of terrifies me, especially after I lost my parents. I find ways to cope by losing myself in a book and not have to face the pain; the gut wrenching grief. I bury it, hide from it and don't face it. I never ever allowed myself to even think of my parents, knowing it would take a really long time before I could, because how do you ever deal with that sort of loss? I had taken all the family photos and hidden them away and Darry had let me do it. His eyes had been so very sad that I couldn't even look at him. The pictures are still hidden to this day.

I'm changing. Part of me knows I must. I must become tougher, harder, whether I like it or not. I see all of this reflected in Darry's eyes. He worries what I have to become too, wants to protect me from it.

Sodapop and Steve come barreling into the house, bringing a welcome distraction and cheeriness. Two-Bit gives them a colorful description of our fight this afternoon. Much like Darry, Soda inspects my face. Only, he looks impressed. "Good for yer, Pony."

Even Steve looks impressed, which is saying something.

I see Darry slip into the kitchen to cook dinner. I leave the noise of the lounge room and go to help him. Grabbing the spuds from the pantry, I start to peel them. We don't say anything. There's really no need, but I feel soothed just working beside him. The older I get the more I understand. And being in the Army is forcing me to grow up fast.

* * *

I'm lying in bed wide awake. I can't sleep. Something is bothering me, something I need to deal with and put right. Pushing the bed covers aside, I go into the lounge room. I suddenly remember where I had hidden the family photos. It was at the very bottom drawer of an old buffet. They are carefully wrapped up in protective paper.

Sitting down on the floor, I lean against the sofa and carefully fold back the paper. We never had much as kids, but we never really needed too. Dad had an old camera given to him by a friend as he couldn't afford to buy one. I remember how excited he was. I was about five at this time. There are no photos of us before that except for a family photo that had been professionally taken when I was two years old.

I pick it up in my hands and my eyes widen at the sight of my parents. It's been so long since I've last looked at their faces. I'm struck by how much my dad looks like Darry. My mom is so young, they both are. Her hair is a strawberry blonde and tied back neatly in a bun. It's not how she usually wore it. She always had it loose and flowing around her shoulders. I remember how I liked to play with it as a young boy. Memories tumble over each other that I'm lost in that world of the past. I don't hear anyone approach, until Soda sits down next to me.

"What'ya doing, Pony?" he asks, then his eyes rest on the family photo.

His eye brows shoot up in surprise. "Whoa, Pony … you haven't looked at these in years."

His brown eyes, filled with curiosity, meet with mine. "Why now?"

I shrug. "Just wanted to, forgotten what they looked like, how about you?" I swallow quickly.

"Nah, I look at 'em at least several times a year."

I blink in surprise.

"I like looking at mom and dad and remembering those days."

He points at me in the photo. "Cripes, look at you Pony, ya hair was so strawberry blonde like mom's."

A fond expression crosses his face. "I remember that day. You wouldn't sit still and in the end mom made me hold you, cause it was the only way ya would stop wriggling."

Soda's eyes mist over. He's always been the emotional one.

I look down at the photo. Mom and dad are standing up with Darry and Soda in front of them. I'm this chubby cheek toddler being held in Soda's arm, who is barely five years old. Dad has a hand resting on Soda's shoulder.

Mom and dad look so happy and proud. A lump lodges in my throat. Getting to my feet, I take the photo with me.

"What'ya doing?" Soda asks.

"Putting this back where it belongs," I return, placing the photo, in its frame, on top of the mantle above the fireplace.

I turn around and look at Soda's startled face.

"I'm putting them all back."

A wide happy grin crosses his face. "That's the spirit, Pony."

* * *

We spend the next hour pouring over the photos, reminiscing and giggling and it's the happiest hour I've had in a really long time, maybe even since mom and dad died.

After it's all done, Soda slings an arm across my shoulders as we leave the lounge room.

"I'm real proud of you, Pony," he says. "You don't know how happy ya made me tonight."

I yawn sleepily, my heart warms at the compliment.

"Yeah, I should have done it sooner."

He kisses my forehead and we both go to our rooms. I feel strangely at peace and I fall asleep soon as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

The next morning I don't wake up at five. Instead, Soda wakes me. I've forgotten how loud he is in the morning. I stumble out of bed and glance at the clock. Shoot but it's seven already.

Darry's made breakfast. All three of us chatter at the table like old times. Steve calls by and drags Soda off to work.

I follow Darry to the front door when he leaves for College. He stops dead still in the middle of the lounge room, his eyes widen in shock.

I take a deep breath and await his reaction feeling kinda pleased with myself.

He turns slowly to look at me. I see the tears in his eyes. My own throat tightens.

I somehow find my voice. "Figured it was about time."

He nods, a smile crossing his face. I know he never wanted to put the photos away. He was just trying to look out for me, like he's always done. He just didn't wanna see me hurting.

"Not a kid anymore," I tell him.

His face softens. "Try not to get in any fights today, Pony," he says, his voice gruff in an emotional way.

"I'll try, but ya know Two-Bit, he's always getting me in trouble," I quip.

Our eyes lock and hold for a brief moment. I can see how proud he is of me, but beneath that is the worry. I'm the youngest, his baby brother and it's hard for him to let me go. Darry would take my place in a heart beat if he could. I know it.

Darry turns and I watch him leave the house, a lump forming in my throat. Heading for the backyard, I'm determined to have the lawns mowed and every weed gone by the end of the day.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. This chapter is probably a bit slow. I like parts of it but I'm still a bit 'meh'. I don't know if the writing is flowing as well as it usual does or because there is not as much angst in this chapter? Either way I kind of had fun writing the scenes anyway. The idea with the photos of Pony's parents came to mind when I re-read the last chapter of 'The Outsiders'. On page 208, Ponyboy is trying to write his theme for English. _"I thought about writing about Dad, but I couldn't. It's going to be a long time before I can even think about my parents. A long time."_ I thought it was a nice way to end the chapter by having Ponyboy finally get past the death of his parents by remembering them once again.

I'll try to get back to this story at some point in time but I'm going to be really busy for the next couple weeks and hopefully I don't loose the muse!

Love some reviews! Just let me know what you liked most about the chapter.

Cheers

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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I didn't think I'd get this out there I've been so busy. And on top of that I have come down with the flu! The up note is that I've spent the last two days in bed writing :) Thanks for the reviews to date, they always inspire me to continue to write.

This chapter is told from Soda's perspective.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 7.**_

* * *

 _._

 _****Sodapop's Point of View*****_

I'm scared. I'm angry too. I'm so angry that it has to be Ponyboy who gets drafted. As if the kid hasn't been through enough in his life time with mom and dad dying when he was just 13 and then Johnny not even a year later. It's not like you get over stuff like that overnight. To tell the truth, I'm not sure if you ever really get over it. And now he's going to Nam. I have to stop myself from dwelling on it, because the building rage … I just wanna hit something, or do something drastic. I'm hell scared about what'll happen to him over there. Will it change him like some stories I've heard from a friend about a friend of his. I don't wanna see him return but a former shadow of himself, or going crazy, or with some horrific injury, or even worse … dead. It just doesn't bear thinking about.

If anything happens to him, it'll be the last straw. I don't think I could continue to live if I lost him.

I just wanna protect him.

Steve was always telling me how I mother him. _'Ever since ya folks died, it's like Darry's the old man and you're the old gal. The kid needs to grow up, toughen up.'_ I would just laugh it off, but it's true ... I guess.

Steve doesn't always mean things in a bad way, he's just rough around the edges, but he's a really good guy beneath it all, the most loyal friend. I never got why he didn't get along with Pony, but now I do. I think Steve was jealous. I know this, because now I'm feeling much the same way.

There is a camaraderie between Pony and Two-Bit. Shared experiences I guess. And I would never tell this to Ponyboy in a million years, but I'm also kind a jealous that Two-Bit will be the one with him and not me. I know Two-Bit will look out for my brother as much as I would, but it ain't the same … it's always been me who deals with Pony. I'm the one that held him at night when he'd cry himself to sleep after our parents died. Well, to tell the truth, we were both bawling for a while there.

He's my little brother that's always followed me everywhere, and I am so used to it that even though it'd piss Steve off, I just always had to have him with me.

Steve doesn't get it, but then Steve doesn't have a younger brother.

But now it ain't me that Pony follows around, it's Two-Bit. Well I'm at work all day and he's not, but I just can't help it, feeling this way; disgruntled I guess.

' _Ponyboy is 18,' Steve keeps telling me, 'but the way ya'll treat him, like he's a still a baby.'_

This is a bug bear with Steve, Darry and me being to over protective. We weren't like that before mom and dad died. Death of your parents just does that to you. Makes us band closer together.

And that's another thing that's changed about Pony. I know he didn't like talking or thinking about our parents, because it just made the sense of loss too overwhelming.

It shocked me to no end to find Ponyboy going through the photos of our parents the other night. I dunno, just hadn't expected it, but it also brought a tear to my eye. Ponyboy was growing up, whether Darry and I liked it or not, he wasn't a kid anymore. He didn't need protecting. He can hold his own. We talked for hours about our parents, recalling childhood memories. It was the best night in a long while. I want to hold on to those memories.

I don't want things to change. Change is scary. I just sometimes wish we could stay kids forever.

Nothing remains the same and don't I know it. Sometimes I still think about Sandy. I know I should be over it. But sometimes I think about her and whether she had a baby, was it mine? Did she have an abortion? Or maybe she was forced to give the baby up for adoption? In the quiet hours of the night I think about these things knowing I was powerless to do anything about it anyway, so why torture myself?

Guess there are some things I'll never know.

* * *

When I get home from work the house is quite. I find Pony lying on the sofa, reading a book with his glasses planted firmly on his face. I smile wryly at the sight. He's been home about five days now. At first he was full of restless energy and couldn't stop, but he's back to normal now. For some strange reason it makes me happy, this is the brother I know; buried in a book.

"Hey, four eyes," I tease.

Poor Pony, he gets teased all the time about it, but he just takes it in his stride. Once, he would have gotten annoyed, especially at Steve, because those two just bicker with each other. Not anymore, now it's like water off a ducks back.

It makes me wonder if Pony has developed a tough hide from being yelled at all the time. Mentally toughening him up, Darry had explained. I see that now. It doesn't make me feel any better. What difference does it make if he's mentally tough or not, all it's really doing is making him not feel so when he kills, he won't have a conscience?

I think too much, probably almost as much as Pony only I don't voice it. I can never word things the way I want too.

My brother is so engrossed in his book I don't think he's even heard me. I go and sit on him and he grunts. I snatch the book out of his hands. "What is so good about this book that ya can't answer your brother?"

"You called me four eyes," he complains. "You know how old that is gettin' now?"

I glance at him and can tell he's bemused.

"You look very distinguished," I tell him.

"Yeah, right and get off me." He gives me a rough but playful shove and I end up on my ass on the ground. I marvel for a moment at how much stronger he is. Still what does strength have to do with dodging a bullet?

I look up at my younger brother and see the playful light in his eyes. Now's not the time to be all dark and gloomy, I inwardly chide. I only have a week left with Ponyboy and I was gonna make the most of it.

"You think y'all tough and that now?" I jeer, getting to my feet.

Pony jumps off the sofa and faces me. "I know I am."

"Alright kid, let's see what ya got."

Just as well Darry's not home, he hates it when we wrestle inside the house as something always ends up broken. We're both laughing so much, like old times and just what I need. Normally I can beat Pony, only because he's so thin, but this time he beats me. He has me on the ground in a head lock.

The front door opens and Darry steps in with Sue in tow. Pony instantly lets me go.

"Oh shoot," he murmurs. "I was just reading and I forgot about the dinner."

His face reddens and he rushes into the kitchen. Darry glances at me and raises an eyebrow.

"I knew it was too good to last," he says with a shake of his head, but I can tell he's just as relieved as I am that some things just don't change; Pony still has his head in the clouds.

* * *

Sue and Ponyboy are often at it, talking about civil rights and how everything should be equal. Ponyboy is going on about how the water fountains in Leesville are divided into black and white as to which side you can drink on. I see a flash of anger in his eyes. In that moment he reminds me of dad and my breath catches in my throat. I know dad was a big supporter of Martin Luther King and equality for all. I can see Pony fighting for the rights of others and then I think again of the hellhole he's about to enter. It worries me. I worry about all the terrible things he might see and how he'll handle it.

I quickly push the gloomy thoughts away and gaze at everyone around me. Sue and Darry are sitting together on the two seat sofa. Ponyboy is lounging in a single seat sofa, his long legs draped over the armchair.

Him and sue are talking about intellectual literary stuff that's way over the top of my head.

My brother is so brainy sometimes. I just listen to him in awe and I think; he should be in College, not going to fight in a pointless war with a high fatality rate that doesn't bear thinking about. I remember our conversation, I remember how I couldn't understand why he wasn't going to College. He'd graduated high school at 17, a year earlier than everyone else. He could have won a scholarship if he'd tried hard enough, but he just wasn't interested.

' _I don't know what I want? I just wanna work a couple of years and find it out. And Darry, you know Darry should go to College, because he's always known what he's wanted and has never been able to do it.'_

' _You like writing and reading," I'd pointed out to him._

' _I like a lot of things. Just don't know if I like writing enough to want to do it as a living and what kinda of job will it get me anyway?'_

I remember Darry swearing and cussing like nothing else when Ponyboy was out of earshot, just a day after he'd received the draft notice.

" _I should have made the kid go to College. I should have foreseen this. This … it's all my fault!"_

" _No need to beat ya self-up about it Darry. It's what he wanted. You know how stubborn Pony can be."_

I'd already made up my mind that I was going with Ponyboy. I knew Darry wouldn't want to hear it but I had to tell him anyway.

" _I'm gonna join too," I told him._

All colour had drained out of his face. He raked a hand through his hair.

" _No. No way. No. I'm not losing the both of you."_

I guess that's the only thing that stopped me in the end. Was Darry's face and the raw pain in his eyes, but if it hadn't been for Two-Bit appearing in our kitchen and telling us he was gonna join the Army with Pony, I still would have done it.

It was hard letting Pony go, letting Two-Bit take what is my role in Pony's life. For the Army to take my younger brother away from me.

We had all been so shell shocked. Moving about in a dream those last couple of weeks before Ponyboy left for basic training with Two-Bit.

I know I was only just holding it together, putting on a brave face for Ponyboy. So was Darry. That first week after Pony had left had been horrible. The house just wasn't the same without him in it. It felt like I'd lost a limb.

That's when I realized Steve was right after all; both Darry and I had been parenting Ponyboy since mom and dad died. And now it was like our whole sole purpose in life these last four years was quite suddenly ripped away from us.

* * *

Work has been hell busy. Always is on Christmas Eve. I just realize that I've still gotta buy Christmas presents and the shops shut at five. I leave work at three, much to Steve's swearing and dash home to change.

I find Pony in the kitchen playing around with dad's old camera. He glances up when I enter. There's a strange look on his face.

I raise an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

"Thought I might be able to fix this thing. I went to the camera place, but the guy said it's no good, took too much damage in the car accident."

I look at the battered camera with horror. Why would Pony even want to fix it? My questioning eyes meet his.

Pony blinks, takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders.

"There was still film in it," he begins and pushes an envelope my way. "Um … the camera guy was able to process it."

I stare down at the envelope, my eyes widening. A lump forms in my throat as my hand reaches for the envelope. These would have been the last photos my dad ever took.

"Have you looked at them?" I ask in a tight voice.

He nods and a see a brief flicker of pain in his eyes. I return my attention to the photos.

The first photo is of me and Pony sitting on the old battered up sofa on the front porch. I have my arm slung around Pony's shoulder and were both smiling up at dad.

I still remember it. He and mom were just about to leave. They had a friend's wedding to attend and would be back tomorrow. Darry was in charge.

I remember dad saying to me, just after he took the photo. _"Look out for your brother, Soda."_

" _As I always do, dad."_

 _Then he'd fondly ruffled my hair and Pony flung himself into dad's arms._

" _Alright kiddo, be good, do as Darry says."_

 _Then he'd ruffled Pony's hair much like he had mine and walked away._ It was the last time we ever saw him.

Tears pool in my eyes.

"Shit," I mutter, this is tortuous and why is Pony doing this?

Just like his fondness for cemeteries, there are some things I don't get about my brother.

"Is there some crazy reason for you suddenly taking an interest in dad's old camera?" I ask.

He lowers his eyes. "I dunno, just had a thought is all."

Taking the photos from me, Pony lays them out on the table. "Maybe if the camera still worked I could use it?"

"You thinking of becoming a photographer now?" I joke to lighten the mood.

He just shrugs.

"What do you notice about the photos?" he asks, his voice is calm but I notice the slight tremor in his hand.

I look at the photos and realise they are all of black people. There must have been some sort of riot in town the same day my mum and dad were there. As to why my dad took photos of it is beyond me.

"They tell a story," Pony continues in a hoarse voice. "It's like he captures every emotion … every thought on those people's face, all of their suffering."

Pony is right. "Never realised dad was so good at taking photos," I murmur, my stomach is all tied up in knots.

"I guess he was trying to make a statement about how poorly the blacks are treated," Pony murmurs. "And I think I finally know what I want to do."

I glance at him in surprise. "What?"

"Become a photo journalist."

I blink. "Say what?"

"Take photos for journalist, it's like a form of social commentary in images."

Oh, really. I'm impressed.

"Maybe you could be both, because ya can't write really well too."

He manages a smile, but I see the shadows in his eyes. The unspoken question hangs in the air. If he survives Nam that is.

Neither of us say it. Pony scoops up the photos and puts them back in the envelope. Quite suddenly an idea takes hold.

I know what I'm gonna buy Ponyboy.

* * *

I'm like a man on a mission. I gather as much money as I can, all of my savings which isn't much and then I go see Darry at College. Man, that place just makes me feel dumb and stupid.

Darry is shocked to see me there. Naturally, his first thought is there has to be something drastically wrong. "What's Ponyboy done now?"

I guess Darry's thinking of that fight. Though Pony hasn't been in any trouble since. He still has the black eye though.

I quickly tell him about Pony and the camera and the photos and how Ponyboy knows what he wants to do now.

"Photojournalism," Darry frowns, not looking happy. "That's a pretty dangerous job."

I snort and roll my eyes. "At least he has something to think about while in Nam. I'm gonna buy him a camera for Christmas."

Darry's eyes widened. "You know how expensive they are?"

"Yeah, I know. Thought everyone could pitch in."

Darry gave as much money as he could and then I went and tracked down Two-Bit, who was in the tavern playing pool with Ponyboy. I somehow manage to manoeuvre him away from Pony without Pony getting suspicious. Luckily his attention is taken up by a pretty red-haired girl walking by. What is with Pony and red-haired girls? Was he still mooning over that girl from years ago? I can't even remember her name now.

Two-Bit is quite generous. "Won some money on a bet last night," he whispers. "What ya buying him?"

"You'll see."

I went to leave.

"You're not staying, Soda?" Pony calls after me.

"Something I gotta do."

* * *

I went to the camera shop and started browsing. I have exactly ten minutes left to find a camera. I don't even know where to start. Most of them are in a price range I can't even remotely afford. There are some cheaper ones.

"Can I help you, son?" a salesman ask.

I glance at him. "I don't know the first thing about cameras, but I just want to get a relatively good one."

"Well it depends on what you want," he begins then frowns. "You look familiar."

"You're probably thinking of my brother, he was in here earlier today."

"The young man with the broken camera. He's was pretty upset to find out the camera couldn't be fixed."

"It had belonged to our parents," I tell him, still shocked that Pony found dad's camera and wanted to use it.

"Your brother," he begins. "He off to Vietnam?"

"Yeah, he was drafted."

"How old is he?"

"18."

I see the sympathy in his eyes.

"That's tough."

I don't know what to say and just nod.

In the end the salesman gives me a discount on the camera and a generous one at that.

"Wish him luck," his says as I leave.

"I will sir, thank you."

* * *

Christmas morning Darry makes bacon and eggs for breakfast. Christmas carols are playing on the radio. Pony and I had brought some cheap tinsel and put it around the house, over windows, across the mantle and places like that.

We have the fake little Christmas tree that we brought out. It wasn't much, but we were used to it being that way. Darry has placed the tree on the coffee table. There were five presents under the little tree. Pony raises a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Darry and I went halves for yours," I tell him. "Two-Bit as well."

"Is that why you two were whispering yesterday at the tavern?"

I nod. "You might as well go first, Ponyboy."

I watch with eager anticipation as Ponyboy unwraps his present. My eyes are fastened to his face to gauge his reaction. Once the paper is removed, he went very very still.

"Well," I begin, I can never sit still for long, "what do ya think?"

Pony's eyes glow and then mist over. I can tell it was the last thing he expected.

"Jeez, cameras ain't cheap," he says, his voice hoarse.

"The camera guy remembered you from earlier on and gave me a 30% discount. He wished you luck."

I can see Pony is touched beyond words and I smile. "It's probably not big and flashy like those photo journalist's guys have, but ya gotta start somewhere right."

He smiles warmly at me. "It's thoughtful, Soda."

My heart doesn't a funny lurch in my chest.

* * *

Pony spends the whole morning sitting at the table, pouring over the instruction booklet for the camera. He has taken the camera out of its packaging and is examining it. I've not seen him that fascinated by something in a long while.

"You did well little brother," Darry murmurs to me as we stand in the kitchen.

Darry's making hot chocolate. So far it's been the best Christmas morning in a while.

"Yeah, I guess he's finally found something he's interested in."

I'm feeling all emotional and try to make out like it's all nothing, but who am I kidding. I'm really just a big softie underneath it all. It's just watching him at the table, with his reading glasses on his face, and his rapt attention taken up by the camera, reminds me so much of dad.

"I think," I begin, "when he found dad's old camera and saw the photos he made a connection to him."

Darry goes still, takes a deep breath. "Yeah, dad sure loved his camera."

I can tell he's barely holding onto his own emotions. Christmas day is always hard. I think that's when we feel the loss of our parents the most.

* * *

After lunch, Steve and Two-Bit came over. Pony has the camera working by this time and takes photos of us all. Two-Bit keeps pulling stupid faces, making us all laugh. There is much frivolity. We feel we have to make the most of the moments we have left, because there is no surety in life.

* * *

The days tick by and I want to stop time but no one has that power. New Year's Eve is just one big piss up, even Ponyboy has some drinks but no one stops him. It's funny watching him half sloshed. He doesn't stop talking.

Even Two-Bit is amused. "Jeez, Pony. You can talk the hind leg of a dog."

The clock strikes midnight and the cheers go up.

I can't believe it's 1970. The 60's are over. It's a new decade. I briefly wonder if it'll be any better than the 60's. If there will be equality for all, just like Sue and Pony talked about the other night.

Somehow, I just can't see it happening yet.

I glance at Ponyboy and can see he's clearly had enough to drink. I hoist him off to his bedroom and bed before he lives to regret this night in the morning.

* * *

Two-Bit and Pony go back to base on the third of January. In just two days. The closer the day arrives, the quieter we all become.

Then it's Pony's last night. It's as if the last two weeks have just vanished. I watch him iron his Army uniform as I sip on a beer. I try not to think about him going back to that awful base, _'Fort Puke'_ he calls it and getting yelled out all day long by some drill instructor who thinks he's doing my brother a favor by demoralizing him.

"How long you have left of basic training, Pony?" I ask.

"A week and a half," he replies, "I can survive it."

"You have another eight weeks of AIT."

He nods. I can see the carefully controlled expression on his face and how I hate it. Pony, as is always his way, has this tendency to withdraw when things are troubling him.

When Pony leaves the room to go hang up his uniform, I look across the room at Darry. I can tell he's thinking much the same as I am. How much this all sucks.

* * *

I toss and turn in my bed. I can't sleep at all. I can stop thinking about how quiet Pony was tonight and it's bothering me like nothing else.

I get out of bed and go to his bedroom. He's not there.

I find him on the front porch, smoking a cigarette with tears in his eyes. It breaks my heart. This is when I feel the anger, when I want to rage at the whole world.

"Coming home again," he begins taking a deep, shuddering breath, "makes it all so much harder to go back."

I clench my fists. It should have been me. Really … it should have been. How do you let your younger kid brother go off to war?

"I sometimes just wish I was already in Nam so I can get it over and done with it and come home for good."

My heart beats so hard, it aches. I pull him into my arms and hold him tight.

"You'll be alright, Pony." My voice cracks, shit he has to be. "I know you will be. You'll come home and get to be this big photojournalist and you'll win awards and be famous."

Pony manages a laugh. "Yeah, right, just exaggerating a bit there, Soda."

I study his face, the dark circles under his eyes. He looks so young and vulnerable. I grip him by the shoulders.

"You'll get through it, Pony."

I knew this was gonna be hard, but nothing prepares you for it. Battery acid burns in the pit of my stomach at the unfairness of it. I fight back the tears. I have to be strong, but who am I kidding.

"Fuck," I mutter and the tears fall anyway.

Once again I have to say goodbye to my brother.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading from Soda's perspective. Love to get some feedback! I have one problem with this story and it's the title. I'm thinking of changing it. If anyone has any suggestions for that I would love to hear from you.

Cheers!

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	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Enjoy!**_

 _ **.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter 8.**_

* * *

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We're quiet on the bus drive back to Fort Polk. Not as if there is a lot to say. Two-Bit and I have the whole back seat to ourselves. I have my feet on the seat. I'm resting my arms on my raised knees and smoking. I didn't sleep very well last night and I feel it now. I'm tired and kind of numb. I feel like this is going to be the longest year of my life.

"Well," Two-Bit begins. "Back to basic training and getting up at five in the morning."

"Being hollered at 24/7 and crap food," I add.

"At least it's only a week and a half," Two-Bit says and lights up a cigarette.

We've pretty much smoked non-stop since leaving Tulsa. I haven't smoked this much in a while. Since Darry enforced the no smoking in the house rule I've found myself smoking a LOT less.

"I think we get a weekend pass too," he continues.

"Before we have to spend another 8 weeks of AIT and Tigerland," I mutter.

"You really are a kill joy here, Pony," he grumbles. "I can't even think of a good joke at the moment."

"I'm sure it won't take you long."

I suddenly remember I'd picked up the photos late yesterday. The ones I'd taken on Christmas Day and News Years Day with my camera. I still can't believe Sodapop, Darry and Two-Bit brought me a camera. I know its Soda's idea, he was there when I showed him dad's photographs. I couldn't even begin to describe to Soda how I felt when I saw dad's photos, just that it had struck a chord with me. The photos had so much depth, they had so much to say about everything that's wrong with our society. I never knew my dad noticed things like that, it gave me an insight into what type of person he was.

As for the camera, I've never owned anything so fine before. It's a Kodak Brownie 44A. I can only afford to buy black and white roll films, but I prefer black and white anyway. There are only 12 frames per reel of film.

I show the photos to Two-Bit and we have a bit of a laugh. He's in at least eight of the photos, along with Sodapop. Those two just love the lime light alright. Even Steve doesn't get as much as a look in.

Darry is in two, one with Sodapop and the other with the whole gang. I don't know how, but it was probably Sodapop who had managed to take a photo of me on New Year's Eve and I look kinda drunk. I have this silly sort of smile on my face. The last time I had a photo taken was the one dad took with me and Sodapop, when I was just 13. The one I now have tucked away in my shirt pocket.

I find it odd looking at myself and not being a kid anymore. I guess I do look quite a lot like Soda, I hadn't seen it before, minus the hair that is.

"How did that get in there?" I exclaim.

Two-Bit snatches it out of my hand and grins. "You look half sloshed and happy?"

"And bald," I mutter, snatching it back out of his hand.

"A souvenir, Pony," Two-Bit says. "A reminder of this fun time in your life."

"Why would I want a reminder of that?"

I stuff the photos back into the envelope and look up to find Two-Bit watching me.

"You'll change your mind one day. When you're an old man, talking about the good old days with ya grand-kids," he continues, a teasing glint in his eyes.

I frown at him and can't even begin to imagine being old. I don't think anyone in our family has been lucky enough to live much beyond 40.

"I can imagine you being old," I say and it's the truth. "Cracking jokes with your grand-kids and telling them all sorts of outrageous stories."

A slow smile spreads over Two-Bit's face as he lights up another cigarette. "I think I'd like that one day."

"I hope it happens. Maybe, one day we'll be old men, sitting back with a beer and reminiscing, you and I," I sigh, wistfully.

I try not to think of my parents. I try not to think of Johnny, or Dallas, or how many people I know die young. I try not to think of going to war were death will be around me all of the time.

It's better just not to think too much.

* * *

Reality sure does set in once we file off that bus and line up in formation. Drill Sergeant Whitehead is there to greet us.

"Holidays are over ladies and your arses are mine once again."

"I missed you too Sarge," Two-Bit drawls and is automatically given 50 push ups.

But it has the desired effect and everyone is trying not to laugh. This just sends the DI into a yelling frenzy.

After making us put our duffle bags back in the dormitory and get changed in our combat gear, he sends us on a five mile run before dinner.

"Let's see if you're still laughing at the end!"

Everyone groans and we begin running. My stomach is grumbling from lack of food. I'm a bit breathless, which is odd for me. I've smoked way too many cigarettes today and I'm feeling it.

Darry hates me smoking. If he could find some way to make me quit, he would. I feel bad for him. Maybe I'll try to quit after all of this is over. When I've done my time and get to live a normal life again.

That would make Darry happy and he deserves to be happy.

* * *

In the last week of the holidays I had really began to chill out. I was so restless and jittery in the first week home, and now I can feel the tension growing in my gut once more. This place is designed to make us feel that way, uneasy, disgruntled and a number in a crappy unfair system.

The nights are cold and the bed is hard.

I try not to think about my comfortable bed at home. The crackling of the fire in the evenings, the warmth and camaraderie with my brothers. The homesickness isn't as bad as when I first arrived here, only because I have now accepted it.

This is my reality once again. Being yelled at by the DI day in and day out. Only it doesn't bother me as much as it once did. I don't even make eye contact with him. I just let him holler and I yell back at the appropriate moments with: _'Yes Sir.'_

* * *

The days pass by quickly. The day before graduation we have a big inspection. We're standing at ease at our bunks. The CO and Sergeant Whitehead begin their inspection. As is the custom, I stand to attention when they approach my bunk.

For once the Drill Sergeant can find no fault. If anything the CO looks in impressed.

"Good job, Private," he says and moves on.

Sergeant Whitehead's eyes rake over me, then he says something to me that I never expected.

"You can run, Private. I'll give you that and it just might save your life one day."

Is that a compliment?

"You've proven your physical capabilities, but I worry about this, Private." He taps my head. "Focus. If you don't focus, if you're not alert every given moment when in Vietnam then you're a goner. And you, Private Curtis, are an airhead." Okay, not a compliment. "That'll get you killed!"

"Yes Sir!" I yell back and hope he moves on.

He turns his attention to Two-Bit. "And you, Private Matthews. You think everything is a joke. You won't be joking once in Vietnam, you'll be wishing that you don't die. You'll be begging to God for your miserable life every day."

"Yes Sir!"

"Do you believe in God, Private Mathews?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Good, because a loser like you is gonna need all the help he can get!"

The Sergeant moves on to the next bunk and Two-Bit exchanges a smirk with me. I know he finds whatever the Sergeant has to say funny. He mouths 'didn't get any last night,' and I suppress a smile.

* * *

The day of graduation arrives. I don't feel proud. I didn't ask to be here, but I do feel determined to work hard at training to give myself every chance of survival. Tigerland, by all accounts, is intense from what I've heard, but at least I won't have to look at Drill Sergeant Whitehead ever again.

There is a graduation ceremony in a huge empty building where guests are invited. It was too hard for Darry and Sodapop to get here with it being such a long drive and all. I'm kind of relieved they are not here. It was hard enough saying goodbye a second time around and it is not even two weeks ago.

We march in company formation before a viewing stand, awards are given out and the band plays.

Upon graduation we're promoted to private first class.

The only good thing about graduation is that we have the rest of the day off and our second weekend pass.

Two-Bit and I hop on the bus to the next bigger, nearest town which is Alexandria, hoping to catch some action and maybe pick up some girls.

Two-Bit is determined to get laid and I'm thinking the same thing. I don't want to die a virgin. I kick myself for the hundredth time that I never took Sally up on her offer. Now I'm gonna have to lower my standards, providing I can even get a girl that is.

* * *

We check into a cheap motel, find the nearest pub and drink beer. Every one of us under the age of 21, has fake ID's. They were in the form of draft cards. We simply photographed them and changed our birth dates. Not that I ever intended to drink initially, but I think I'm beginning to develop a taste for beer. I like the way the stress just leaks out and is replaced by a warm liquid that melts into all of my muscles. It's soothing. Darry had also mentioned that to me, _'watch the drinking. Two beers can easily lead into four and then six and then you've got a problem.'_ I don't know why Darry has to worry, out of everyone I'm the oldest before I even had a couple of beers.

* * *

There are quite a lot of girls in the tavern. They obviously know the nights to come to the tavern. Like us, they're looking for some fun too, I guess? Some of the girls look as young as me, if not younger. It's hard to tell, they all wear so much make-up.

I'm trying to summon up some courage to approach a girl. I see them glance my way, and then whisper in each other's ears. I sort of just don't do anything.

Two-Bit can just talk anyone around with his wit. I marvel at how he does it. I could do with some of that self-confidence.

He manages to lure two girls to our table. One is a brunette with shoulder length hair, and the other a blonde with long wavy hair, big breasts. Two-Bit's type so I'm stuck with the brunette. Her name is Jane. She's 20 and works in a music shop. She talks a lot, non-stop in fact. She's pretty enough, but too much eye make-up.

I couldn't really get a word in. After some time I just found her to be kind of insipid. Once I probably wouldn't have, but now … now it's all different. I don't have the time for this.

I've decide I really want out of there. This, trying to shack up with non-stop talking Jane isn't gonna happen and my ears ache. I tell Two-Bit that I am gonna give Darry and Sodapop a call. Two-Bit shoots me a confused look, already knowing that I've called my brothers.

I just shoot him a warning look back and disappear out of the tavern. The cool night air is soothing on my flushed cheeks. I've only had four beers, but that was a lot for me. On New Year's Eve, I'd had six and Sodapop had carted me off to bed. I smile at the memory and continue to the nearest diner and a coffee to sober me up.

* * *

There ain't that many people at the diner as I enter. I spy a couple in a booth, I see the flash on bouncy brown hair and big brown eyes and don't I know her.

I stop in my tracks and it hits me. "Marcia?!"

She looks up at me in confusion, trying to place me. It has been four years, and I was just a runt of a kid last time she saw me. I'd just turned 14 and was short for my age, I remember how much it use to bug me.

"It's me, Ponyboy," I continue.

Her eyes widened in astonishment. "Wow, I don't believe it!" she exclaims. "You're so grown up."

I nod. "It's been a while."

A warm smile crosses her face. "Yeah, it has. Why don't you join us?"

"I don't want to put you out," I begin.

"No, I insist."

I sit down and look at the guy with her and recognize him. "Randall," I say.

He's in our platoon. I don't really know him. He's pretty quiet and keeps to himself.

"Randall is my fiancée," Marcia says, "I can see you two already know each other."

"We're in the same platoon," Randall speaks up, glancing my way. He's an okay guy.

"How you're going, Pony?"

"Yeah, alright. Had enough of drinking beer and felt like a coffee."

Marcia gives me a sweet smile. "Wow, talk about having your head screwed on for someone your age."

* * *

I don't know much about Randall, but when he talks I can tell he's smart. Unlike Marcia, he's not from the wealthy end of town, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Turns out he'd dropped out of College to help with the family business when his father fell sick. Six months later he was drafted.

That's tough. I feel a flash of anger. They don't care. The government doesn't care who it drafts, what it does to families.

We soon change the conversation. Marcia and I talk about old times and it's not too long before Sherri Valance comes into the conversation, or rather I ask Marcia if she still sees her?

"I haven't seen Sherri in over two years. I know she went into nursing and her parents were horrified."

' _Things are rough all over.'_ I still remember her words. _'All the expectations.'_

"She is a full on feminist now," Marcia continues, as if that's a bad thing.

I take a sip of my coffee and it really doesn't surprise me.

"The last time I saw her, was at a tavern in Washington DC. She said she was never going to get married and subject herself to servitude."

I just about choke on my coffee. Then I feel a bemused smile cross my face. "She was so feisty." I don't know why I admire that?

Marcia's face grew serious. "Funny, but she mentioned you."

I go very still for a moment. "Really?"

"She asked if I'd seen you at all," Marcia continues. "She said you we're a good kid, and one of a kind."

I can feel my ears redden and try to remain nonchalant.

"And that's something coming from her, because she hates all men now."

Great, terrific. I don't even know what to make of this information, only that I want to know why? Maybe it's from liking the wrong types of guys, like Dallas. _'I hope I never seen him again because I'll probably fall in love with him.'_ Maybe she had continued to see guys like that and got burned in the process. Maybe that's what made her become a die-hard feminist. I think a lot about this on the walk back to the motel.

* * *

Pulling out the key, I open the motel door and fall onto the bed, kicking my boots off. So much for getting laid, I mutter inwardly. I'm beginning to think I have a serious problem.

I'm so tired, I fall asleep soon as my head hits the pillow.

I have to be dreaming. _Sherri is looking at me and I can see she wants me as much as I want her. I don't even stop to ask, I just brush my lips against hers. She deepens the kiss, slipping her arms around me. I catch her up in my embrace, my hands plough through her long red hair. It tangles up in my fingers. She pushes me against the wall, wrapping her legs around me. I pull down my zipper and let my trousers fall to the ground. She vanishes before my eyes and is replaced by Bob's furious face._

 _"She's too good for you. Hands off, greaser."_

 _Next thing I find my head forced into the water. I can't breathe … I can't breathe … I'm gonna die._

 _I don't want to die!_

 _"You can join me in hell, greaser!"_

I wake up startled from the dream, my breath coming in short ragged breathes. My heart is pounding in my chest. What the hell is with that dream? I haven't had a dream of Bob drowning me for years. Why now? It leaves me feeling unsettled.

Pushing the covers aside, I glance at the clock. It's three in the morning and Two-Bit still isn't back. Getting dressed, I pull on my coat and go looking for him, trying to push out any lingering thoughts of Sherri. I don't know why she is in the dream, only that I must be desperate for sex. Obviously, Marcia talking about her tonight brought on memories. Sherri, a full on man hating feminist now.

I shake my head and can't help feeling sad about it.

* * *

I go to the tavern, but Two-Bit isn't there. Maybe he scored and is with the blonde chick. Still I keep walking the streets, looking out for him and worrying.

Eventually I hear the most awful off key singing and recognize the voice in an instant. I find Two-Bit laying on the park bench, half sloshed and singing merrily.

He looks up at me. "Oh, hey there Pony. You finally get around to coming back."

I help him up from the bench.

"How come you're here? Why didn't you come back to the hotel?"

"Couldn't remember where it was," he returns in a slurred voice.

He's definitely drunk.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the motel."

I put my arm around his shoulders.

"What happened with Susy?" I ask as we walk back to the motel.

"Turns out I wasn't her type, she just hung around for free drinks with her friend."

"Guess we both didn't score tonight," I sigh.

"Bugger that," Two-Bit hisses. "I thought we had a plan, Pony. I impress them with my wit and you try to be charming," he continues. "Only you went and did a runner on me and hell, Ponyboy, at this rate ya never gonna get laid."

"She's wasn't my type," I protest.

"You ain't gonna meet the likes of that red-haired chic you're so fond of out here."

"Probably not but I did run into her friend, Marcia. You remember her?"

Two-Bit nods. "Yeah, she was kinda cool for a soc girl, had a sense of humor too."

"She's engaged to Randall Smith."

Two-Bit doesn't believe it. He's still arguing with me about it as we enter the motel. As he's drunk, I just let him go. "Randall Smith is about as funny as a wet blanket, what does she see in him?"

He passes out on the bed, I roll him over onto his side in case he throws up. Then I go outside for a smoke.

It's quiet out here. I think about Marcia, quietly asking me to look out for her fiancee, before we parted ways. I said I would. Seeing the desperation in her eyes, I can't help thinking how much hell it is for the people left behind, like my brothers.

I don't know which is worse. Only, I think I'd rather it be me fighting than Sodapop or Darry, and me sitting at home anxiously awaiting for them to return in one piece.

* * *

The weekend flies by. Our little short stint of freedom is over. I didn't get laid. Two-Bit's officially given up on me. "You're on ya own kid. Too damn fussy."

"It's not as if there was much to choose from."

He didn't get laid either. He blames me. "You've got the looks, Pony."

"Yeah, right," I snort. "You need Soda. He has the charm."

"Just my luck to go to war with the wrong Curtis brother," he mutters, but he's joking as he always is.

"Besides, we have another two week break at the end of AIT before we go to Nam. Still plenty of time to get laid."

At this rate I feel as if I'm never gonna get to Vietnam. I'm in a hurry because I just want this nightmare to be over and I haven't even gotten to the worst part of the dream yet. As much as I love being home that's the whole problem. When I go home it's just makes it even harder to leave again. And next time it's going to be even worse, because then me and Two-Bit will be Vietnam bound and won't be returning for a whole 365 days. I could die. I could get seriously injured. I could end up insane. I don't know which one is worse? Or by luck I just might be one of the minorities that goes to Germany. I doubt it. I'm never that lucky.

* * *

I don't mind AIT. I like it better than basic training. We are treated a tad better and none of the Drill Instructors at Tigerland are as bad as Sergeant Whitehead. We have to run everywhere. We run in the morning before breakfast. We run and have PT after breakfast. We run to almost every training area and growl like a tiger and Two-Bit finds this hilarious.

The worst is the rain, and sometimes hail and it's cold. Six guys went down with pneumonia in the first two weeks. If we're lucky we might get four hours of sleep a night.

Training is intense. _"Every man a tiger."_ Is the motto. The signs are everywhere and there is no way to lose sight of why we're here. Every-day and everything I do inculcates the inescapable truth that I'm Vietnam bound to fight a war. And the thought terrifies me. We're also reminded by the drill instructors every day. They never let you forget it and have us chanting: _"It's not your duty to die for your country. It's your duty to make an enemy soldier die for his."_ They indoctrinate us to hate the enemy and prepare us to kill the enemy by singing marching songs such as, _"I want to go to Vietnam. I want to kill a Vietcong."_

" _Kill or be killed!_ Is yelled at us all of the time. After a while, I find myself chanting this a lot, as everyone does.

I'm focused, more so than I've ever been in the entirety of my life. I don't want to die. I know what I want to do now, what I want to be. I have a dream, a goal to aspire too. Trust me to find it before I go to Nam and not afterwards. But maybe that's a good thing too.

Not everyone is happy about being a grunt in Vietnam. Everyone's on razors edge and it doesn't take much to set some people off. There are also gangs of soldiers who roam Tigerland at night and sometimes rob and attack smaller groups or if ya on your own.

Fights are commonplace. It's one tough place. However, Two-Bit and I band in with other guys.

We had grabbed bunks with Larry and John on the first day here. Keeping my word to Marcia, I ask Randall if he wants to bunk in with us. The five of us have since become good friends. We always support and encourage each other, making the best we can of a lousy situation. It's the camaraderie, I've learnt, that gets me through. There's safety in numbers. We all come from the rough end of town and so we get left alone by the other gangs.

The biggest difference in training here is the focus on the use and care of weapons.

We're issued an M-16 rifle, the weapon we're told that its most commonly used in Vietnam. I also get to fire a .45 caliber pistol, a .50 caliber machine gun, the M-72 LAW anti-tank rocket, which is basically a one shot, disposable bazooka. The fourth weapon I fire if for familiarization is the M-79 grenade launcher. We spend three days firing and qualifying with the M-60 machine gun. It turns out that Two-Bit can correctly aim the M-60 and hits his targets consistently. As a result, he scores 160 out of a maximum of 184 and qualifies as an expert.

We never hear the end of it either. He's boasting for days.

The weeks go by quickly. Our seventh week is when things go wrong for me. We are being trained on evasive tactics, and ways to avoid being captured by enemy soldiers. We spent time learning how to read maps, and how to use a compass. We are also told about various vegetation that was edible, and we were divided into groups of four or five and given a live chicken so we can wring the neck, chop off the head, pluck it, cook it, and eat it as our evening meal. This training is completed on Friday evening when the entire company is taken to a desolate location approximately three miles from the company area. We are divided into groups of four, given a compass, and told of the compass heading that would direct us back to the company area in the dark. We are also told that several soldiers who have completed their training and were awaiting orders would be stationed at various locations and serve as enemy soldiers who would try to capture us. The woods and swamps in Tigerland we're a mix of streams, wetlands, thick words, and thickets. Its pitch black so can't see much of anything. By the time we get back to base I'm violently ill along with all of my group members. I wasn't with Two-Bit for this exercise. The DI's are always intent with separating us much as they can.

Turns out my whole group have food poisoning. It was definitely the chicken. I don't think I've ever thrown up so much in my life. I'll never eat chicken again.

I'm that sick that I get admitted to the hospital for two days. The doctor wants to keep me longer, but I manage to talk my way out of the hospital and back to my platoon.

I can tell by the worrying look on Two-Bit's face that I still don't look good.

"Jesus, Pony," he exclaims. "You lose ten pounds in two days, you look like hell. You shouldn't be here."

"I don't care. If I stay in the hospital any long I won't graduate with you guys next week and I'll have to stay another two weeks in this place. We have to stay together."

Two-Bit runs a hand over his head. "Darry's gonna kill me," he mutters.

I just snort. "Yeah, as if it's your fault. Darry will get two weeks to fatten me up when we get home."

* * *

That last week was tough physically because I really am not well. I should have stayed in the hospital. I don't even know how I got through it, but somehow I did. If it wasn't for Two-Bit I certainly wouldn't have. We might be going to the worst place on earth in a couple of weeks, but at least we both have the same posting. At this point in time we should be together for the whole of our stint in Vietnam. I'm really glad about that. I'd hate for us to be separated. I've probably become too dependent on him.

* * *

On the day of our graduation we are given our orders for Vietnam.

" _FNE report to US Army personnel Centre, Oakland Army Terminal, BLDG 640 no later than 1200 hours on 22_ _nd_ _March 1970."_ I read and my heart sinks.

It really begins to hit home. Deep down I'm hoping that somehow something would change my fate. Maybe the war would end, maybe it would be someplace else I'd get sent, anywhere but Vietnam. Even more so since we've been trained and classified infantry. My MOS is an 11 Bravo, or light weapons infantry. Basically cannon fodder or a grunt (name for the sound you make when lifting a seventy pound pack on your back). It's not the best, but I'm confident enough that I'll get through it.

Two-Bit and I catch the bus back to Tulsa, Oklahoma. My time in Tigerland is unforgettable. Apart from losing 15 pounds, I'm strong and mentally tougher. I know I'll be able to fight in Vietnam. I'll kill if I have too. I'll do whatever it takes to survive.

And I will survive. This surety frightens me. Why am I not afraid? What's with the blind faith?

Then it hits me. I've become what I knew and fear would eventually happen to me; I have become indoctrinated. It wouldn't matter if someone came along and offered me a free pass to Canada. I wouldn't take it. I'm bound for Vietnam. I'll do my duty. I'll fight in that war. I'll serve my country.

I will survive.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** This chapter is probably more informative than anything and not so emotionally driven. There'll be plenty of that yet to come. I guess I'm keen to get to the action part in Vietnam and didn't want to waste too much time with all the training stuff. I feel I've done enough on that. I still wanted to try and get across how brainwashed the recruits are. There are a few key significant things that happen that will lead onto further character developments in later chapters.

Thanks for reading and please review!

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	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N:**_ Thanks for the all the reviews to date. Always very much appreciated!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 9.**_

* * *

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I'm always anxious about my brother. When it comes to Ponyboy, it's just second nature. I think I've already had a lifetime of worrying about him. I don't think I'll ever stop.

Sue tells me that it's normal. She says that I've taken on the father role.

But I had too. It was either step up, or lose both of my brothers to a boy's home. Over my dead body. No way was I ever gonna let that happen.

When my parents were killed in that car accident it was the end of my dreams. Moving, numb like, through the next few months had been hell. There was no time to grieve the loss of my parents. I had just turned 20 years old with a sudden world of responsibility.

"I hardened myself. It was the only way I could cope," I tell Sue.

We are dining out tonight. She had asked about Pony, and I told her he was due to arrive home tomorrow from Tigerland. Then one thing led to another, and next I'm blurting out everything to her.

"It wasn't easy, giving up my dreams of going to College and becoming a laborer. And Pony was so young, just 13. I had to be tough. I was probably too hard on Pony, just that I was scared half the time."

Sue's always a great listener. I'm sure I would have lost it by now, with Ponyboy being drafted into the Army, if it hadn't been for her.

She slips her hand in mine and squeezes my fingers. "I think you've done an amazing job with both of your brothers."

I want to believe that. Maybe Sue sees my uncertainty, given her next words. "You're too hard on yourself, Darry."

I don't know what to say to that, because I don't think I am. As for the worrying, hell I'm more terrified now than I've ever been. I pick up my wine glass and take a sip. How do I explain to her what it's like to lose everything that ever mattered to you?

"Just the thought," I begin, "Of anything happening to Pony … after losing mom and dad … I don't think I could handle that sort of pain again."

My chest tightens. I let out a sigh that sounds more like a hiss. "He's going to war, Sue. And I can't do a damn thing about it. It'll change him. How can it not."

I see the sympathy in her brown eyes. The amount of times I've griped about this to her and yet, she still just listens to me.

"I can't lose him."

It's that thought that haunts me. And now … well now it's such a real possibility that I can't sleep at night.

"If I could just take his place," I mutter.

But I can't, and I'm ruining our night out with my griping about it. I pull myself up.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I get it, Darry. Now Ponyboy will be home for two weeks so what are you going to do?"

I frown. "Like what?"

She sighs. "You all need to do something special, maybe go away camping for a weekend. Hire out a cabin and just enjoy each other's company."

She has a good point. But doing that makes me think I'll never see him again. And I can't accept that reality.

* * *

I think I picked the wrong night to go out to dinner with Sue. I can't relax. I apologize. She smiles in her understanding way and tells me it's fine, and that she knows how much I care. She tells me that's what she loves the most about me. Her words are like a soothing balm. I then realize, for the first time, that I do love her. It's a sobering thought. When this is all over, when Pony's Tour of Duty is done with and I have him back safe and sound with me, then I'll start thinking about my own future.

I pull her into my arms, hold her tightly and my lips find hers. It's not a full on make out heavy session, I'm not up for that and she knows it. It's soft, gentle and lingering, offering comfort and a connectedness. It's what I need.

"Thank you," I murmur in her hair.

* * *

When I get home the television is left on and Soda's fallen asleep on the sofa. I go to switch the television off, when a news broadcast comes on screen.

 _'General Lon Nol staged a bloodless, US-backed coup. It's rumored that half a million Vietnamese civilians have been massacred. Their bodies were seen floating down the Mekong River.'_

I quickly flick the television off. The war is ugly.

I never watch the news. It's not about victories anymore, rather it's filled with images of soldiers sweating it out on grueling jungle patrols and watching their buddies being sent home in body bags. There is a deep disillusionment with the war. The anti-war movement has the support of every respected figure both here at home and internationally. Not only was my brother soon to be in those jungles, but also subjected to the unrest here at home. Soldiers are no longer considered heroes. He and Two-Bit have already been in a fight on their last return home. I have the feeling it's gonna get a whole lot uglier before it gets better.

Despite Nixon promising to start withdrawing troops from Vietnam, he obviously isn't true to his word. But they never are. Now he's brought Cambodia into the war.

Then there's the whole drug thing going on. It's mostly marijuana, but there is also heroin, amphetamines, barbiturates and opium being used by what I've heard. Hopefully they are rumors, but then Larry, a new co-worker, was saying how his brother became addicted to heroin over there and still was upon his return. Stories like that chill me.

' _No one returns from that war unscathed,' he'd told me, after work one day and downing a beer._ ' _He drinks all day, suffers constant nightmares and flashbacks. He's no longer the same happy co-lucky brother that I used to know. Now he's a stranger.'_

The dark shadows in Larry's eyes didn't go unnoticed by me. I try to convince myself that that won't ever happen to Ponyboy. He has better sense than that. He's stronger than that.

' _It changes them. Even if they survive, they ain't ever the same.'_

Those words haunt me.

They keep me awake at nights. How can I let my brother go there? Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat. Heart beating erratically in my chest. And Pony hasn't even left for Vietnam yet. When I can't sleep I pace the living room, thinking up ways I can get my brother out of this mess. I think about smuggling him out to Canada. I'm desperate. I'm a realist. I know there is no happily ever after in life. I've been dealt enough unfair blows in my own life to know how it all works. But this one infuriates me more than anything else, because Pony doesn't have a choice. It makes me wonder about our so called democracy. Has the world gone insane? Why are we sending young men under the age of 21 out to war? They can't vote and they can't drink, but they're old enough to be trained into killers.

My dad would be furious if he were here. I wish he was. I wish I could offset this burden that I carry. I'm sure dad would be handling this a lot better than I am.

* * *

I'm kind of wound up the following day. I told Soda that I'll pick up Pony and he has to cook dinner. The hours seem to drag by. I wonder if he'll be okay. Of course he'll be fine, I silently chide, he ain't even gone to Vietnam yet. What I mean by fine is more to do with how much he might have changed. Because I noticed the changes last time, subtle as they are. He was tougher mentally. Strangely more confident too, which worries me because I don't want him getting too over confident in Vietnam, and thinking he's invincible or something.

I'm going to have a long talk with Two-Bit when they return. Two-Bit will tell me everything. Or maybe he won't, he's very loyal to Pony, but I also know if Two-Bit is worried about Pony he would tell me. It's an unwritten law between us.

The other thing bothering me is knowing these are the last two weeks I'll have with Pony. I won't see him for a year. _I might never see him again._ Don't think that. I can't allow myself to ever think that. But it is that fear that fills my thoughts all too often, making me feel helpless.

I hate feeling this way.

* * *

Five o'clock rolls by and I drive to the bus depot. My stomach feels funny. I'm unsure of what'll I find. I know Ponyboy has to grow up, but it sure ain't easy watching him change. Part of me wants him to stay young and innocent. I want to hold onto the boy. I might have had to give up my own dreams, hoisting them onto Pony instead. Give him what I couldn't have. I wanted to honour my parents in that way.

So much for that. Pony doesn't get to College. Instead he's going to be sent to a pointless war and I'm left to pray he doesn't return in a body bag.

There are times I still acutely feel the loss of my parents.

* * *

It's the oddest sight to me, seeing Ponyboy in that damn Army uniform. My baby brother, looking like a stranger. Then he smiles widely when he sees me, and I see him now; the happy light in his eyes.

"Darry," he exclaims and makes a beeline towards me.

I hug him and notice how thin he is; yet again. I pull back and see the apprehension in his eyes. I'm about to say something, because when it comes to him, I can't help it. But Pony beats me to it.

"Been sick, had food poisoning."

I take in his pale, drawn face and bite the inside of my cheek. He doesn't look well at all.

Two-Bit strolls up. "Hey, Darry," he gives a salute.

He looks well enough, so why is my brother not?

"Hi Two-Bit," I return. "You get food poisoning as well?"

"Nah, Pony was in a different group to me. Drill Sergeants always trying to break us up."

I see the flash of anger in his eyes. When Two-Bit gets mad, his eyes become stormy to the extent that you wouldn't even know he has a sense of humor. He puts an arm across Pony's shoulder in a protective manner. It still surprises me how willingly Two-Bit enlisted in the Army just so he could look out for my brother. I know underneath his seemingly easy going and humorous way that there was a lot more to him. I just didn't know how far that went; now I do.

"It was just before the last week and they made us do this 'escape and evasion' course. Gave us a live and raw chicken carcass to kill and eat for supper. Nice of them hey? Guess Pony's group," he gestures a thumb at him, "didn't cook it right and they all ended up sick."

Pony shudders and looks at me. "We ain't having chicken tonight are we?"

"Soda's cooking, no telling what'll we get, pretty sure it ain't chicken though."

Relief crosses Pony's face. "I ain't ever eating chicken again," he mutters.

"Was it that bad?" I ask.

I don't miss the look Two-Bit and Pony exchange.

"Bad enough," Pony replies and I know he's not telling me everything.

Doesn't matter, I can see it for myself by just looking at him. I clench my jaw. What's the point in grilling him about it, not like anyone can do anything about it? Food will be a lot worse in Vietnam. God knows what he'll be exposed to over there. Again that feeling of helplessness washes over me and I hate it.

"Let's get home. You need a lift, Two-Bit?"

"Yeah, thanks Darry."

I guess roast chicken isn't gonna be Pony's favorite dish anymore, and I don't know why that suddenly bugs me so much. If he's this thin when he leaves for Vietnam, what's he gonna be like when he returns?

* * *

After dropping Two-Bit home, I find myself lecturing him about it, because when it comes to Pony, it's just what I do. His weight has been my concern for too long.

"If you don't eat right you won't have your wits about you, and you have to be focused over there, Pony."

When we pull up in our driveway I look at him. Why is he not arguing back? Instead there is a slight bemused look in his eyes.

"What?" I say.

He shakes his head. "Jeez, Darry, but your nagging is kind of mild compared to training." He gives a lopsided grin. "I kinda like hearing it again."

This catches me unawares. And in light of it all, he has a point. Smiling, I reach out a hand and ruffle his hair, which has started to grow back in short dark reddish brown tufts.

I love this kid so much that it hurts.

"C'mon," I say, "let's get inside. I know Soda's been counting down the days till you return."

He'll have 365 days to count when Pony leaves for Nam. It feels as if a rock settles in the pit of my stomach. So many days. Too many. It's gonna take forever.

Too many things can go wrong in that time.

* * *

Pony's chatty at the dinner table. Last time home there was a certain awkwardness about him, but now … he seems more self-assured. As if he's adapted to Army life. Apart from the loss of weight and the dark circles under his eyes, he seems well enough, mentally that is. He talks about the training, all the running, all of the time and the intensity of weapon training. From what I can gather he rather enjoys the weapon training, surprising me.

"You're playing around with some full on fire power," I tell him.

He shrugs as if it's nothing and shoves a forkful of peas in his mouth. "I guess they've gotta make sure we're well prepared for war."

And all of this in the hands of an 18 year old. He's barely out of high school, yet old enough to shove an M-16 rifle in his hands. This is the kid that loves to read books and day dream, sure … the government will just send him to fight in a futile war. Why not. Make him kill people. I swallow the bitter sarcasm.

"Me and Two-Bit are light weapons infantry, in other words, grunts …" Pony begins.

"And cannon fodder," I finish for him.

The table goes quiet. I can see Soda's jaw clench. Pony's clear gaze meets mine. "Yeah, Darry," he returns calmly. "We're well aware of that. Not a day goes by without us being told it's kill or be killed."

Sometimes I just need to keep my mouth shut. I just need to control my anger, even if it's not directed at him, he's still part of it. I'm just hurting him, as I usually do.

"Pony," I begin, feeling angry at myself now.

He lowers his eyes and raises a hand to stop me.

"I'm well and truly indoctrinated by now," he continues, his expression carefully guarded. "It might just save my life."

Those words make me feel even worse. I don't want him to be indoctrinated. I just want him to stay the same.

Lowering his fork to the table, Pony gets up, grabs his packet of smokes and heads out to the front porch.

"Great going, Darry," Soda hisses. "Ya just couldn't let him talk."

"I'm finding this hard to take," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. "He could die."

Soda slowly shakes his head. "You don't think I don't know that. You don't think a day goes by when I don't worry about it, but there's no point in talking about it, especially in front of Pony," he points out, a haunted look in his eyes. "He hears it every day, Darry. And soon he'll be seeing it every day too. Let home remain free of it for him."

Sometimes I think Soda has the most sense out all of us.

* * *

Half an hour is enough time to leave Ponyboy on his own. I know Soda hasn't gone out to talk to him, because he's waiting for me to do it.

I find him lounging on the old battered up sofa, a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. I frown.

"Where did you get the beer from?"

"I brought it."

"How?"

"Fake ID."

It shouldn't surprise me. We all did it. Hell, if the kid is old enough to go to war, he might as well drink. Who am I to lecture him? Maybe it's about time I'm done with it.

"You got anymore?" I ask.

I can see this question surprises him. He nods. "Yeah, just there." He gestures to the carton. "Help yourself."

Grabbing a can, I sit down next to him. I pop the top and take a long swig. It tastes good.

"You know you don't look 21," I say, because I can't think of anything else. "Far from it."

Pony reaches in his pocket and flips a card at me.

"Doesn't matter as long as you've got ID."

I look down at the mug shot of him. With the shaved hair, he looks like he's just stepped out of prison.

"Two-Bit make it for you?"

"Yeah, he taught all of us under the age of 21 how to do it."

I smile. Yep, that would be Two-Bit. I hand the ID back to him.

"He's still stealing stuff?" I ask.

"Whenever he can. I don't think he'll ever change."

Good, somethings shouldn't change. Not that I'd condone it, mind you we all used to do it before mom and dad died. The consequences to our actions were not so great then. Mind you when dad found at he was angry, and he it took a lot to get him that way. None of us did it again after that.

"Sorry about before at the table," Pony begins. "Just didn't feel like talking about it."

My brother saying sorry before me, that's another change. It shows his maturity now.

"I'm the one that should be sorry. You know my temper and how I shoot off at the mouth."

He gives me a sideways glance. "Yeah, you do that," he adds with a grin. "A lot."

I playfully nudge him and just like that, everything is okay between us.

"And you've never bitten back … much," I quip.

"We've had some yelling matches in the past," Pony admits. "Both stubborn I guess."

But with age they've become less. It's not as if Pony is going through that rebellious difficult teen phase anymore. Thank god for that, because that's one time I would never like to re-visit. Although Tim often tells me 'Pony is a saint compared to Curly.' And he's right about that.

Soda pops his head out the front door, probably to see if everything is okay. His eyes rest on the can in Pony's hand. His eyebrows shoot up.

"You're drinking beer!" he exclaims. "And ya didn't tell me."

He walks out, trying to look indignant, grabs a beer and wedges himself in between me and Pony, as he always does. Now we're all grown up, it's getting to be a tight squeeze.

Soda flips the tab on his beer. "Man, I can't remember the last time we've done this."

"It was New Year's Eve," I inform him. "Just eight weeks ago."

"That was the whole gang, I mean just the three of us. You got a cigarette, Pony."

Pony hands him the packet and I frown. "I thought you'd given up."

Soda snorts. "You know I only smoke when I drink."

"That's what I meant," I pointed out.

I'm about to start up on a big lecture about how bad smoking is when Steve strolls up the front porch.

"Well if it ain't the three Curtis brothers," he drawls. "Gettin' cosy on the sofa."

He raises an eyebrow at the beer in Pony's hand.

"So ya finally letting the kid drink, well good for you, Darry. About time you lightened up."

I glare at him. I had let Pony drink New Year's Eve. Had everyone forgotten that?

Steve's gaze rests on Pony. "They're not feeding ya there, kid?" He lights a cigarette. "Better watch out for any sudden gusts of wind. Wouldn't want to get blown away."

Normally this would rile Pony up, but he just smiles. "Real funny, Steve."

Steve leans against the railing, looking disappointed by the lack of Pony's reaction. "Least you got some hair now. Still too much red in it."

Pony has an amused expression on his face, as if he's missed Steve's ragging.

"So what's with the anorexic look?"

Pony sighs. "What do four city kids know about trying to kill, pluck and cook a chicken in a metal helmet with little water, and over a small hastily built fire?"

I hide a smile at Steve's confused expression. "Is this a question or an answer, Pony?"

"I'm answering your dumb question," Pony returns. "I ended up with food poisoning."

Steve Scowls. Soda looks interested. "Tells us about it. What did you all do?"

Pony lights a cigarette. It's his eighth one tonight. He's smoking more than I like, but I hold my tongue.

"We don't have an axe to chop its head off and none of us were willing to bite its head off either, despite being given a demonstration on how to do it."

Soda screws his face up. "That's just gross, man."

"So what did you do?" Steve asks.

"We manage to snap its neck, but we had no knife and a bayonet is for stabbing not cutting so we kind of made a mess of things. I mean we all thought chickens came wrapped from the frozen food counter. You ever tried plucking a chicken before? It ain't easy, but we were starving as we hadn't eaten all day."

"So you ate it raw?" Soda asks in awe.

"Not exactly raw," Pony says, his face grimacing. "It was sort of cooked, just not cooked nearly enough."

"What happened next?" Steve asks, looking interested despite acting as if he weren't.

"We had to run and hope not to get caught, find our way back to the base through swamps and within a couple of hours we were all puking. I no longer gave a shit about being taken a prisoner, I hoped to god I was, anything to get out of those swamps. I swear I felt as if I was gonna die."

Meanwhile Two-Bit rocks up, grabs a beer and listens in. "That's what happens when they put the four youngest together."

Steve glances at Two-Bit. "What about you?"

"We had this guy Jack, who grew up on a farm and knew everything about killing and cooking chickens," Two-Bit replies with a smile. "It tasted alright, needed some salt though."

Pony glares at him. "Yeah, you get all the luck. Me and the guys, we were stuck in hospital for the next two days."

"So it's a rather serious case of food poisoning," I speak, clenching my jaw, feeling annoyed.

Again Two-Bit and Ponyboy share a look, and I know he's not telling the whole story.

As if I don't hate the Army enough, but the way they seem to want to single out the youngest recruits, infuriates me. "Seems irresponsible to me and what's the point of the exercise?"

Two-Bit shrugs. "Some stupid shit about being able to survive in the jungle. I think they just enjoy making everyone's life a misery."

"They are sadists," Pony adds. "Two-Bit stirred them up a lot. How about that time we were standing in formation and the DI hollers, _'Alright! All you dummies fallout.'"_ A wide amused smile crosses Pony's face. "We all fallout and Two-Bit's just standing there, not moving. The DI goes up to him and Two-Bit says, _'sure was a lot of 'em, huh Sir.'_ We all lost it."

Two-Bit is the best person to be with Ponyboy, I realize. I would have been too over protective, Soda would have just mothered him, but Two-Bit makes him laugh. It's what he needs.

"You know what we all should do," I begin and everyone looks at me. "We should go camping."

Neither Two-Bit or Pony look thrilled about this.

"As in tents?" Pony asks.

"No way, not tents. I hate tenting. I've had enough of tents to last me a lifetime," Two-Bit moans.

"Yeah, Darry. We don't want to rough it, if ya know what I mean."

I roll my eyes. "Fine, then how about a cabin? We can go fishing and just laze about for a couple of days."

Pony looks at me as if I've suddenly grown two heads. "Are you feeling alright, Darry?" he asks. "Did you just say 'laze about'?"

"I'm all good for lazing about," Two-Bit pipes up.

I grin at Pony's doubtful expression.

"Yeah, thought we could do with a bit of a holiday," I say. "It's been a while."

"Alright, I'm all for it," Soda enthuses.

"What about work?" Steve begins.

"Don't worry, I can get us a couple of days off." Soda looks at me. "Let's do it Darry. I can't remember the last time I went fishing."

I look at Pony's now hopeful face. I remember how much he loves the country.

"What about it, Ponyboy?"

A slow smile crosses his face. He nods. "Yeah, alright. Sounds fun." He's still looking at me as if he can't believe I've even suggested such a thing.

Two-Bit puts an arm around Pony's shoulders. "You see, Pony. Obviously Darry is now getting some from his girlfriend."

I resist the urge to playfully punch him out.

"Are we allowed to pick up some girls along the way?" Two-Bit continues, a cheeky glint in his eyes. "Still gotta get Pony laid. And man it's been a while for me too."

I point a finger at him. "No girls allowed. This is a guy's only trip."

Steve lets out a cheerful yell. "Yeah, just like old times. The gangs together again, and we are gonna have some fun."

It's been a while since we all shared this sort of camaraderie. I open another can of beer and sit back in contentment watching Two-Bit joke and regale us with humorous anecdotes. I look at Pony, see the happy look on his face, the light in his eyes and I drink it in.

I don't want to ever see the light go out in his eyes.

I want everything to stay just like this.

.

.

* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! This chapter took me forever to write and the writing muse has been painfully slow of late. Hopefully it'll pick up soon. At least I have two weeks holidays and maybe the chance to get the chapters out a bit quicker.

Reviews are like nuggets of gold, please leave one if you can.

Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 10.**_

* * *

.

I sleep a lot. Twelve hours a day for the first three days. I guess my body really needs it. I hadn't had the chance to recuperate from that bout of food poisoning.

By day four I feel like a normal human being again.

I'm so hungry.

Darry's real happy about that. I'm eating food. Lots of food.

I need to put on some weight before I leave for Vietnam. Good knows what I'll face. We don't really talk about it, but it always there in the back of our minds.

So I eat. Keep Darry happy. Don't talk about war, don't talk about dying, just pretend everything is okay.

I can do that. Two-Bit does it too. Well he tells a lot of jokes, but I know he feels the same as me. We're going to war. We could die. Maybe we won't. Who knows, but hey _'you only live once Pony'_ he'll tell me, ' _let's make sure it's good while it lasts'_. So we all act like its old times.

Which is kind of ironic considering that nothing really has been drama free and nothing old ever remains that way.

* * *

Least when I look in the mirror I don't look as bad. I'm still too thin. The dark circles under my eyes are gone. Hair is starting to grow back.

"Damn they look good," Two-Bit remarks alongside me. "It's the only good thing to come out of all of this shit."

He's inspecting his teeth in the mirror as I'm trying to shave. There was no privacy during basic training so I'm used to having him crammed in my space. Hell, even when we had to go to the toilet there was not a wall separating you all. You had to take a shit and try not to look at each other, so be it, and you just hoped there would be enough toilet paper left to wipe your ass with. So we are used to living in confined spaces with no privacy.

"That's the Army for you. Gonna send you out to fight a war, but they'll fix you up as best they can before they do. A good set of teeth, glasses if you need them and all medical expenses paid," I speak.

I think of my reading glasses. I've become so dependent on them now that I couldn't go without them.

"All that money spent on health when ya gonna probably die anyway," Two-Bit jokes.

His gaze rests on me.

"How's Darry taking it?" he asks.

"Alright I guess," I return and try not to nick myself with the shaver.

"You're a lousy liar, Pony."

"I'm lousy at a lot of things," I return.

Two-Bit looks perplexed. "Where you get off on that? Why you keep beating up on yerself?"

"Habit," I shrug.

Ever since Johnny died, I guess. It doesn't matter how many years have gone by, I sometimes still think why Johnny and why not me? If only we had done things differently, Johnny and Dallas could still be alive. I don't torture myself like I used to, but for the first six months afterwards it was bad. I'd lost so much, parents, best friend and I struggled to deal with it. We all did, just like Darry is now.

"Darry's …" I begin, trying to find the right words.

I see it in his eyes, the fear.

"He's finding it hard to let me go," I continue.

Hell, it's not as if I want to go. I really don't. Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat at nights from some nightmare I can't escape. I don't have control over my life.

"We don't talk about it."

What's there to say? Not as if anyone of us can do anything about it.

My eyes meet with Two-Bit's, our images reflected in the mirror. "What about your mom? How's she taking it?"

I don't miss the brief pained shadow flicker across his face. Even Two-Bit can only hide so much behind his humor.

"She thinks I'm barking mad. Sometimes she yells at me and sometimes she cries," he says, running a hand up the back of his neck. "It's harder than I thought it would be."

His hand drops to his side, there's a flash of fire in his eyes.

"C'mon lets go hit the town. We need to stock up for our fishing weekend at the cabin."

"With beer you mean?" I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"A lot of beer," he quips as we leave the house. "We are getting smashed."

Darry won't like it. Though he ain't nagging like he used too. I don't think he sees the point in it anymore.

* * *

I'm still thinking about what Two-Bit said in the bathroom, about his mom. I feel bad. I feel real bad. I don't know why they all think I can't do anything on my own? Just 'cause I'm the youngest, the baby they all like to tease. It sucks.

"Your quiet, Pony?" Two-Bit observes as he drives.

His mom had lent him her car for a change.

"You shouldn't have done it, man," I mutter, pulling a cigarette out of the packet I'm trying not to scrunch up in my hands.

I have a bad habit of wringing my hands together when somethings bothering me.

"What'ya talking about, Pony?"

I light the cigarette.

"Joining the damn Army," I grumble, drawing back on the smoke. "You had a life."

"Yeah, right," he snorts. "I very fruitful one at that, couldn't even hold down a job."

He glances sideways at me.

"Least I got a regular pay check now."

I snort. Two-Bit looks pissed.

"We've hashed this out before. I ain't sorry I've joined, neither should you be, and if you ever mention this shit again, I swear I'll smack you out."

I believe him. He can be fierce enough when he wants to be.

I swallow and nod. Truth is, I'd be lost with him. It means a hell of a lot.

"Besides, why should you get all the adventures?" he grumbles in mock seriousness.

"Gonna be one hell of an adventure at that."

If we don't get blown up into a billion pieces, or come home minus legs and arms. Shit, I've gotta stop watching the news. During training we were so cut off from the world it was easy to believe that you could survive, but now … now I'm back in the real world, I don't know anymore. All I know is that I have no say in it. And if I go down, Two-Bit will be right alongside me; going down too.

I know him. I know he'd do anything for me. I know he tells me I'm his best friend, the brother he's always wished he had so he'd have someone to annoy. The loyalty is a fierce thing, we cling onto it because it's the only thing we really have; what gets us through the tough times.

Then there is the fear in my brother's eyes; like I can ever escape it. I find myself making promises I don't even know I can keep.

Worse thing is, they know it too. But we all have to still believe it.

It's just … messed up.

I can't let myself go. I can't live life like I should. Which is stupid, because you would think not knowing if I'll survive Vietnam or not would be incentive enough to make me want to make the most of these last two weeks, because … well … they really could be my last two weeks.

If you get what I mean. And then I don't want to think that far ahead and write myself off before I'm even in Vietnam. I could survive … intact.

* * *

We visit the camera shop. I buy a roll of film. I didn't take any pictures when in AIT, there was never any time and really no point. But I want to take pictures of our cabin trip. I need the reminders, the memories. I get the feeling it's the only thing that might keep me focused, keep me sane in the end.

We stop by a fishing store and stock up on equipment. My rod needs some work. I haven't used it since I was 12. Two-Bit's never even been fishing.

He buys a cheap rod, wanting to spend most of his money on junk food and beer.

It's two in the afternoon, and he's wanting to go to the tavern. I get him to drop me off at the library. I tell him I'll meet him at the tavern in a couple of hours.

"Why you wanting to go to the library, Pony?"

"Gotta research something."

He just mutters under his breath about it not being normal, going to libraries and shit, but still drops me off there anyway.

"You're not gonna get laid in a library," he tells me as I climb out of the car.

"Not looking too," I return.

He shakes his head and drives on.

* * *

I find the book I'm looking for, it's all about the art of photography. I find a table and chair, sit down and begin browsing through the book. I'm so engrossed in reading that I barely notice the person sit opposite to me. After a few minutes, it begins to register that I know the smell of that perfume.

I glance up at the young woman. Her light brown hair, the curve of her cheek and … shit … and … her eyes widen as recognition dawns.

"Ponyboy!" she exclaims.

"Sally," I reply weakly.

Her eyes sweep over me, a tinge of color reddens her cheeks.

"I didn't recognize you … you look different with the glasses."

I hastily rip them off my face.

"Yeah, guess I do," I stammer, not knowing what else to say. "Just need them for reading."

God, this is so awkward.

"You look well," she begins.

She wouldn't have said that if she'd seen me four days ago.

I nod. "So do you."

And she sure does. I'd forgotten how pretty she was. She looks as uncertain as I feel.

"You finished training now?" she asks.

"Yeah, I got a two week break then I'm going to Vietnam."

Her face falls a little. Everyone knows Vietnam is hell by now.

"My brother got drafted last week."

I see the pained look on her face and I feel sorry for her.

"How old is he?"

"19, just 19 and god, Pony, but how old are you?"

She already knows this, I think, but I still say it anyway. "18," I pause for a moment, "And a half."

I gotta get that bit in. It doesn't sound as bad. I know I got the raw end of the deal. Not many as young as me get drafted but then other countries, like Australia, can enlist and get drafted at 17, so 18 is not a big deal, I tell myself.

Color suffixes her cheeks. "Pony, I'm so sorry about last time … what I did," she begins.

"Don't be. I'm an idiot."

A soft smile crosses her face and she shakes her head. "No. What you said made sense."

That's me, the damn voice or reason. She's wrong. I am an idiot. Then I think about the last four months of training, what hell I was put through, what hell I'm about to face.

"I don't think sense matters anymore," I murmur.

She chews on her bottom lip, her warm hazel eyes full of sympathy and sadness. I think of her brother. I think about how all of this sucks, how we get no say about going to war and being trained to kill.

"Was it hard during basic training?" she asks.

"At first," I hesitantly reply. I don't want to freak her out.

"Which base is your brother going to?" I ask.

"Fort Benning. You heard of it?"

I shake my head. "I think they are all pretty much the same." Let's hope her brother doesn't get someone like Drill Sergeant Whitehead as his platoon leader. "I went to Fort Polk. We nick named it Fort Puke," I grin.

She smiles. And I'm feeling kind of bold.

"You want to go get a drink?" I ask.

* * *

We find a quiet cafe. The quieter the better so I don't have to deal with people staring at me. I might have some hair now, but it's still really short and in this day and age of hippies and long hair, Two-Bit and I still stick out like sore thumbs.

I enjoy Sally's company. It's nice chatting with a girl for a change. I'm not at all nervous. I guess I really have nothing to lose. I take this moment for what it is; having a good time with a pretty girl like any other regular guy.

We talk a lot. I tell her about training, because she wants to know what her brother is going to experience. I leave out the worse parts though.

She talks about the bank.

"The guy who replaced you isn't as polite as you are," she says, a small smile tilts up the corners of her mouth. "Or as cute."

I smile, and color creeps into my cheeks. "So I'm cute?"

Her smile widens. "You must know that by now," she teases.

"I don't know, maybe," I shrug, a bit embarrassed.

I truly suck at this.

"So, you're modest too," she quips. "Do I add that to the list that makes up Ponyboy Curtis?"

I smile. I never knew how smart she could be.

"How about you?" I say to change to subject. "What do I add to your list?" I pause for a moment, my eyes resting on her face. "Pretty," I continue and now it's her turn to blush. "Clever and funny."

Okay, so we're flirting now and I like it.

"I should have asked you out sooner."

The color in her cheeks deepens, making her appear even more attractive.

"How come you didn't?" she asks.

"Because I'm an idiot, remember," I tell her, tapping my head.

A small smile crosses her face. And it's true.

"You think you have all the time in the world," I begin. "And then you realize that you don't."

Her face softens, but I catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. I can see she is thinking of her brother. I want to reassure her, but I can't. I can barely reassure myself that everything will be okay.

* * *

We leave the café and walk down the street. It's a beautiful sunny day. I feel good to be alive.

I slip my hand into hers. "Thanks," I say. "It's the most normal I've felt in ages."

She smiles up at me and squeezes my fingers. "You're welcome."

We both blush a little. It's all so new and sudden, these feelings coursing through me. I don't know what to make of them.

"How long till you leave?" she asks.

"Just over a week."

I want to forget it for a while, the inevitable.

"I would like to see you again," I admit.

Raising a hand, I lightly brush a strand of hair from her face. "But I don't want to make you feel too much for me," I sigh. "I can't offer you anything. I don't know what'll happen to me over there in Vietnam."

Her face pales at my words. "Then you need to live in the moment."

She sounds just like Two-Bit.

"I can't turn off my feelings like a tap, Ponyboy," she slowly smiles. "I going to feel anyway."

There is such a frank honesty about her that I feel my attraction heighten.

I nod. "Okay, yeah then … I would like to see you again."

Her smile is so warm and inviting. I want her. Damn.

I brush a thumb across her lips. She leans in towards me. I feel her warm breath on my neck, see the pretty pink colour in her cheeks. I notice the desire in her eyes. I feel it just as strongly. I lower my lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss that deepens. Nothing has felt this good in a long while. Her hands slips around my waist and I pull her closer.

"You taste like spearmint," I murmur in her hair.

Her curls tickle my nose.

We kiss again, each time the intensity grows until someone jeers, _'get a room'_ and we both suddenly break apart.

Our eyes are round and wide, then she brings a hand up to her mouth, giggling. I can't get a room even if I want to. I'm already probably late. Two-Bit will be waiting for me at the tavern.

It's too soon anyway. I don't want to rush things. I want it mean something. I want it to mean something to her as well.

"I'm camping this weekend with my brothers, but we'll be back Sunday," I quickly speak. "Maybe we can go catch a movie?"

She nods. "I'd love too."

Then we just stand there gazing into each other's eyes, grinning stupidly. Well I probably am. She just looks beautiful and sweet.

Her hand closes over mine, and a rush of heat surges through me.

My lips brush her forehead. A feeling of tenderness and longing swells in my heart.

"See you on Sunday," I murmur.

"See you then, Pony." Her voice sounds soft and husky.

Forcing my legs to move, I turn and walk away.

* * *

I find Two-Bit in the tavern.

"We're the hell have ya been?" he exclaims. "You're an hour late and we gotta leave by five and …" he breaks off there, getting off the stool and peering in my face. "Are you smiling?"

I frown. "What? No."

"There's something different about ya," he continues, circling around me.

He sniffs the air. "I smell perfume."

Stopping in front of me, his gaze meets mine. "You have a dreamy look on your face …"

The penny drops. I literally see it.

"You met a girl?!"

I really fight hard not to smile, but I just can't help it. I probably look goofy.

"Well I'll be," Two-Bit whoops and pats me on the back. "You've finally gotten laid!"

"Not yet," I return my face reddening.

Two-Bit's face drops. "But you said …"

"Yeah, I met Sally at the library and we had a drink and then we kissed and that's all."

He's scowling a bit. "But ya gonna see her again?"

I nod and he grins.

* * *

"Where have the both of you been?" Darry bellows as we enter the house. "We were supposed to leave half an hour an ago."

"Pony's gotta girlfriend," Two-Bit returns as the fly screen door slams shut behind me.

Every eye in the house is looking at me. God, I'm so never gonna live this down.

"You met a girl?" Soda says, blinking

"I already know her," I begin. "It's Sally from the bank, I ran into her and we got chatting is all."

"That's not all," Two-Bit interjects. "He kissed her and they are gonna meet up again."

He nods his head in a knowing way. I almost want to deck him.

"Pony's gonna get laid before we leave for 'Nam."

Color floods my cheeks. I turn away, muttering under my breath.

* * *

It takes nearly two hours to reach Lake Eufaula. I haven't been there since I was a kid. Mom and dad use to take the three of us a couple of times, when they could afford it. I was 12 the last time I was here. The place hasn't changed.

It's dark by the time we reach the cabin. We all tumble inside and fight over the beds. I end up sharing the double bed with Soda, who claims it first.

"That ain't fair," Steve complains, "How come Ponyboy gets to share it with you."

"Because you snore," Soda returns, grinning.

Steve throws a pillow at his head. It's true. Steve snores like a freight train. He's kicked to the back bedroom, with a solid oak door so no one can hear him.

Two-Bit resigns himself to the sofa.

"You should be used to it," I quip.

Darry takes the single bed in the same room with the double bed.

Once the beds are sorted, we build a bonfire, drink beer and roast marshmallows. It's one of those beautiful clear still nights. It's freezing even though it's now spring. I'm wrapped in an old red and black lumber jacket that's been handed down from Darry to Soda and to me. It's seen better days but its warm.

Two-Bit brought a whole pile of junk food. Several boxes of screaming Yellow Zonkers, a buttery-glazed popcorn, along with Dolly Madison cakes.

We're feeding our faces as we sit around the fire.

"Keep eating that shit," Darry says with disgust on his face, "You'll get fat."

Darry is a health nut. They only junk food allowed in our house is chocolate. He glances at me. "Except you Pony, because I don't think anything can fatten you up, but I can't say the same for the rest of you, especially you Two-Bit."

He shoots Darry a mock offended look. "I'm in the best shape I've ever been."

"Only because you have to be," I quip. "All we've done for the last four months is run."

Before that, and with his fondness for beer, he was a bit on the stocky side.

"Thank god that's over," Two-Bit mutters, shoving a muffin in his mouth.

I grin at him. Now it's my turn to tease.

"He was only this far away," I begin, holding up a hand and measuring an inch with my fingers, "From being put in the fat platoon."

"Aw, shut up, Pony. Besides I'm good at holding it in."

"There's a fat platoon?" Soda exclaims, shocked.

"Yeah, I felt sorry for the bastards," Two-Bit says, "Man, they had it much tougher than us."

I open another can of beer and for a moment I'm stuck back there. I don't want to be. I force my mind elsewhere and think of something boring. Like all the tinned cans of spaghetti and Campbell soup we brought up in case we don't catch any fish.

Let's talk fishing.

"Think we'll get any catfish?" I ask, turning to Darry.

I remember that one glorious day when out on an old wooden boat, me, Darry, Soda and Dad. We caught a dozen good sized catfish. Man, were we on a high. My dad kept singing this old country song that'd make me and my brother's groan.

I can't even remember what it's called now. It was a Johnny cash song, my dad loved his music. Mom was into Patsy Cline. Sometimes I'd come home from school, and she'd have the record playing. She'd make me and Soda dance with her. Darry would disappear somewhere.

Soda would do all these crazy dance moves, making mom laugh.

For a moment, I'm lost in the memories. Must be this place, I muse. Maybe everyone else is too, because there's peace and quiet.

I feel something hit me in the face. It's a piece of popcorn. I glance across at Two-Bit, see the teasing glint in his eyes.

"I think it's about time we give Pony some tips on how to make looove to a woman."

I groan and run my hands over my face.

Steve and Soda perk up, grins on their faces. "Think the kid can get it up," Steve quips. "Think he knows what an erection is?"

I glare at him, throwing the hard bit of popcorn Two-Bit had just thrown at me a moment ago, at him.

"So let's give ya some manly tips on how to seduce a woman," Two-Bit continues.

I shoot a pleading glance at Darry, a ' _save me'_ look.

Darry throws his hands up. "You're on your own, Kid." But I see the amusement in his eyes.

Just great.

"I tell ya what, Kid. Ya treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen," Steve says.

Soda punches him in the arm. "Don't listen to him. You gotta treat her right, Pony, like she's the most special person around."

"Make her laugh, chicks like that," Two-Bit adds. "It's all to do with words at first. You gotta tell 'em what they want to hear."

"And then you just feel her up, but take it slow, start with kissing the back of the neck, that sends them crazy," Soda grins. "Then you move to the boobs, and ya gotta be gentle."

I'm glad it's dark. I swear my face is bright red by now and I feel my ears burn.

The suggestions get more explicit. I slink further down in my fold up chair.

"Ya know how to use a condom, Kid?" Steve is grinning. "I got one here ya can practice with."

"Okay, that's it," I snap, getting up and walking back to the cabin.

I'm not really pissed, but I've heard enough. The jokes on me, but's it getting a bit old now. Everyone is starting to get too drunk. Except Darry, because he never drinks too much. He always knows when to stop. Soda gets drunk really quickly. Two-Bit can hold his liquor but he's been drinking since two this afternoon. Steve … is just Steve, a pain.

"Oh, c'mon, Pony. Don't be like that?" Two-Bit calls after me. "We're just trying to help."

I give him the finger. They all laugh.

"I bet he's going to jerk off," Steve says loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm gonna take a piss," I yell back. "Y'all wanna hold my hand while I do that too?"

I smile. Good comeback, I tell myself.

It's true. I do need to take a leak, well I do now and any excuse will do.

* * *

The flickers of firelight shoot out in the dark sky. I lay back watching. I'm cruising. I've drunk too much, smoked too much. My throat feels dry and sore. But I feel content. I think of Sally. Maybe it's fate that I ran into her at the library.

The teasing had mercifully stopped, only because Soda and Steve have gone to bed.

Darry's yawning and stretching. I know he's only staying up because of me.

"I'm going to bed, Pony," he says, getting up from his chair. "Don't drink too much."

Bit late for that now.

He frowns down at me. "Maybe you should go to bed?"

"He's alright, Darry. I'll make sure he gets to bed in one piece."

Darry doesn't look particularly convinced. Two-Bit's as drunk as me. But he doesn't say anything.

"Okay, but ease up on the smoking. You're beginning to sound like a fog horn."

I see the concern in his eyes. The fact that Darry's not lecturing me about something constantly, bothers me. I just want everything to be normal again. I just want to have a normal life, and Darry's lectures … are normal. Without them, everything feels just wrong.

I watch him leave and my thoughts drift back to Sally. I like her. I like her a lot, but I'm not in love. I think. Do I even know what that is? Maybe it's something that grows on you?

"Hey, Two-Bit," I begin. "You ever been in love?"

I'm sure I've asked him this before, but I always get different answers.

"Nah," he returns, "Came close once."

How does that even work?

"In seventh grade."

"When you were 12?"

He pulls out a cigarette and hands me one.

"She was new to the school and I saw her crying during lunch. Thought I'd cheer her up so I told her some jokes."

I light the cigarette frowning.

"She smiled and told me I was funny," he continues.

Two-Bit comes out with these odd stories at times.

"And that made you fall in love?" I scoff, convinced he's having me on.

"She was the only girl to ever tell me I was funny," he points out, "they called me a lot of other things and generally ran when they saw me coming so it made a nice change."

I imagine a 12 year old Two-Bit trying to regale 12 year old girls with his jokes and it brings a smile to my lips. I was too shy to even approach a girl at that age.

"So what happened?"

"She wizened up, went out with a respectful boy from the good side of town."

I remember the night we met Sherri and Marcia at the drive-ins, how easily Two-Bit clicked with Marcia. I remember him throwing away her number later that night and muttering that it's probably a fake. There was no way a girl like her would go out with someone like him. It makes me feel sad, because despite whether your rich or poor, Two-Bit is a good guy, the best buddy anyone could have.

"You'll fall in love," I say, my words beginning to slur.

"So ya can see into the future now, Pony?"

"I know you, is all."

Two-Bit hates being alone.

Silence falls, and I begin to feel tired, probably the alcohol. I lose count of how many beers I've had which is really unlike me. So much for never drinking. But then I never thought my life would end up with me going to war.

"Why you ask, Pony?" Two-Bit says, breaking the silence.

"Just wanted to know what it felt like? Don't think I've ever felt it."

There is silence again. The words go unspoken, but we're both thinking it.

Will we survive Vietnam?

Will we ever get to know what love is?

I draw back on my cigarette, gazing up at the stars, thinking. I remember being a kid, the cabin. Mom and Dad dancing in the evening, holding each other and laughing.

' _I'm gonna be just like that,' Soda tells me as we watch them dance. 'They look happy don't they, Pony? That must be love,' he sighs._

 _I nod. 'Yeah … I think it's love'_

 _I shiver._

' _Ya cold, Pony?' he asks, sounding worried._

" _Yeah, Soda. I'm really cold. I can't get warm.'_

 _He shakes his head, looking miserable. 'I told you not to go.'_

 _I'm shivering. I can't stop. Everything hurts._

' _I'm scared. Its cold here … why am I so cold … Soda? I think I'm dying … Soda?!'_

' _I told you not to go, Pony. I told you not to leave.'_

 _Everything grows dark. Sudden terror hits me. I'm all alone. There is nothing. Everything is gone. Everyone I ever love always leaves me._

' _Soda!' I scream. "Soda! Soda! Soda!" I yell over and over and over._

 _Someone is shaking me. I want to be free from this pain._

 _I'm dreaming._

 _This isn't real._

 _I'm not dying._

 _Open your eyes._

 _Open your eyes … now!_

I awake with a start, gasping in deep breaths of air. My heart is pounding in my chest. I look up into Two-Bit's panic stricken face.

"Shit, Pony," he exclaims, raking a hand through his hair. "What the fuck was that? Must have been some nightmare. You scared me half to death."

I slowly sit up, taking in my surroundings. We're at the cabin. I must have fallen asleep out in the open air with Two-Bit. I'm so cold, I can barely talk.

"C'mon, let's get inside before we both freeze to death and don't even get to 'Nam."

He drags me to my feet.

I don't bother telling him it might be a better way to die. The dream has left me feeling unsettled and anxious. I should have listened to Darry. I should have gone to bed when he told me.

Two-Bit collapses on the couch. I throw a blanket over him and drink a full glass of water. I shouldn't have drank so much. I never thought I would. Everything is changing and it scares me.

As I climb into bed alongside a sleeping Soda, he stirs and automatically puts an arm across me. It's just second nature to him and I take comfort from it. Somethings don't change. The last vestige of the dream fades away.

I fall into a deep sleep.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. Please excuse any typos and leave a review. I love feedback of any kind. Tell me what you like, what you would like to see and/or whether or not you are enjoying this story.

I do like this chapter but it's a long one. I just couldn't get the end to where I wanted it. It just kept going and I do feel the ending of this chapter isn't as rounded as the rest of them, but if I didn't stop here it would just keep going!

I am most curious to see what people think. Should Pony get with Sally? Or should he remain honorable and not sleep with her? Let me know.

Cheers!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! They are slowly increasing and it makes me very happy! Keep them coming!

Here's the next chapter.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter Eleven.**_

* * *

.

I wake up with a pounding headache. My mouth feels like sawdust. Someone pulls back the curtain and bright sunlight comes shining through, blinding me.

"Time to get up, Pony," Soda chirps happily.

I groan and pull the pillow over my head. Next thing I know, Soda is bouncing on the bed, poking me in the ribs. "You hung over, Pony?"

I sometimes hate how cheery he is in the mornings.

"I'm never drinking again," I mutter.

"That's what they all say," he grins and pulls the blankets off me.

I try to pull them back. We fight over them for a moment laughing, before I give up. It's too hard, I need aspirin and I need it now.

"What time did you come to bed last night?" Soda asks. "You were frozen solid just about."

I see the hint of concern in his brown eyes.

"Fell asleep outside," I mutter.

He frowns in that perplexed way when he doesn't always get why I do certain things. If it'd been Darry, he would just say, _'where's your head?'_

"Took me ages to get you warm," he continues.

I can't even remember Soda doing it, but the images from the dream flash through my mind. _It's cold here … why am I so cold … Soda? I think I'm dying._

I shiver. I know the dream is to do with my falling asleep outside and my body temperature significantly dropping, but still … it disturbs me.

I glance up at him. "Thanks for that." He gives me an affectionate punch to the arm.

"Darry's cooking breakfast."

He leaves the room, and I drag my sorry ass out of the bed. I walk into the door on my way to the bathroom, stubbing my toe.

"Jesus," I swear.

It stings, and I gaze down at it. A chunk of skin on the tip of my toe is hanging off, blood is beginning to drip on the floor. I swear again, spy the hand towel and wrap it around my toe.

I stumble in the living area. Two-Bit is still sound asleep on the sofa. I don't know how he can sleep with the racket going on. Steve and Soda are playing monopoly, noisily. Darry's cooking breakfast. I can smell bacon sizzling in the frying pan and my stomach grumbles. I need two things; a Band-Aid and aspirin.

The hand towel is wrapped around my foot. Steve happens to look my way.

"What happened to ya foot?"

"Stubbed my toe."

"On what?"

"The door."

He leans back in his chair. "You're still a klutz, kid." He shakes his head. "And they're gonna send you to 'Nam' with a M16 rifle in ya hand to shoot gooks. God help them."

I stand there frozen on the spot for a moment. I'm used to Steve's smart ass comments, it's just the _'shoot gooks'_ term that gets me. I've heard all sorts of derogatory names for the Vietnamese; Charlie, Nogs, Slope Heads and Dinks. I've been trained to hate them, to want to kill.

"They're still people," I mutter.

Suddenly, it's as if every eye is on me. I swallow and realize the enormity of what I've just said.

"You don't ever think that, Pony," came Two-Bit's voice.

Guess, he isn't really asleep. He emerges from the blankets I'd tossed over him last night.

"Thinking shit like that is only gonna get ya killed," he continues in a low voice. "They ain't human, don't you forget it."

An uncomfortable silence fills the room, Soda is glaring at Steve. I see the worry in Darry's eyes, the unspoken words, _'You're not cut out for this.'_

"No one mentions Vietnam when here," Darry mutters, shooting icy blue daggers at Steve for bringing it up.

I think it's about time to change the subject and fast.

"You got a band-aid, Darry?"

* * *

It's soon forgotten, or so I think, but it still hangs over our heads. How can it not? I hear them whispering on the front porch. They think I'm in the bathroom. I'm just about to walk through the front door, but I stop.

"Don't worry about it, Darry. He'll soon learn to hate when he sees his buddies being shot around him."

"That ain't helping, Steve," Darry retorts. "I don't want my brother to learn and feel hate. It goes against everything he is. I hate to think what that place will do to him."

"Yeah, well Darry I think you gotta wake up to reality. It's gonna happen."

I step back, leaning against the wall, taking in deep breaths. They are both right, and I don't want to hear it. I don't want to think what I might have to become. And I don't want to ruin this weekend thinking about it.

Clenching my hands into fist, I push open the door.

"We going fishing or what?"

* * *

The fish ain't biting. Two-Bit keeps singing off key, scaring them away. Either that, or it's his jokes and raucous laughter. It doesn't matter how often we tell him to shut up, he'll be quiet for a few minutes before starting up again. After about four hours of this we all give up.

"What now?" Two-Bit asks, "I'm bored."

We're sitting on the front porch. It's about three in the afternoon.

"Let Pony decide," Soda suggests, "It's his last weekend."

"And mine," Two-Bit adds.

"You can decide after that."

We already know what that'll be; the local tavern.

Everyone looks at me. "Can it be anything?" I ask, a slow smile crossing my face.

I think of something Steve would really hate to do.

Payback is a bitch.

"Of course," Darry says.

"I noticed this museum back on the main highway just before the turn off, I wouldn't mind checking it out."

Everyone is just staring at me like I've grown an extra head. I grin. "You said anything."

"Anything but that knuckle head," Steve snaps.

* * *

I actually can't believe I'm dragging everyone to a museum. Steve looks royally pissed off as we drive out there. I swear I'm smiling the whole time.

Two-Bit shoots me a wry grin. "You getting off on this ain't ya?"

I nod and grin back.

* * *

The care taker, an old wiry looking man that's even thinner than me, gives us a suspicious look. Why would five young guys want to visit a museum? It doesn't help with Steve scowling. He addresses me, maybe because I look respectable with the typical Army hair. I can see the approval in his eyes.

"Just the five of us," I say, giving him a dollar note.

"Off to war, son?"

I nod. I'm never gonna escape it.

"Good for you."

I don't bother telling him I have no choice. "Thanks," I murmur. And his _'good for you'_ should really be directed at Two-Bit, not me.

Turning around, I glance at the others. "C'mon let's go and cheer up. Jeez' not the end of the world."

They grumble after me, except for Soda, who kind of bounces, as is his way. I'm glad. At least some things don't change.

* * *

After about ten minutes of browsing Steve comes up to me.

"Hey, look Pony, about earlier, what I said back in the cabin, I shouldn't have. You know sometimes I just shoot off at the mouth. I don't always think."

I glance at him. "Yeah, I know. You need a brain for that," I quip.

"Smart ass," he mutters, but a hint of a smile crosses his lips before he turns away.

* * *

I know everyone is bored witless within half an hour, but there is a lot of interesting stuff, a lot about the local Indian Eufaula Tribe which the town is named after. They were part of the Muscogee Creek Confederacy.

I find the photographs to be most interesting. I guess because it captures a different culture, and the way they lived interest me. I know no one else gives a shit about this. I know I'm odd like that. Johnny would like it though. If he were still here. I wish he was here. My throat tightens.

At some point I see Steve, Soda and Two-Bit sitting down on chairs at the front entrance, waiting for me.

"Are ya done, Pony?" Two-Bit asks.

"You promised a whole hour," I return.

After all the teasing I endured last night, they could suffer for a bit longer.

The only other person who seems to be interested is Darry. He keeps hovering at my side.

"I didn't think history was your thing," I say to him.

He shrugs. "Trying to be interested."

"For my sake?"

He puts an arm around my shoulder and ruffles my hair. "Everything's for your sake, kiddo."

I remember the overheard conversation from this morning, and I want to reassure him.

"I'm tougher than you think."

* * *

I decide to put everyone out of their misery and we leave the museum. Darry drives the truck into town. Two-Bit is hanging out for a beer. We make a stop at the local seven eleven for smokes. I can see Steve and Two-Bit whispering near a magazine stand, and I wonder what they are up to, or maybe its best I don't know.

Steve snickers and I don't miss seeing Two-Bit steal something, probably a magazine from the rack. I quickly glance at the front counter, but the guy there hasn't noticed. Now that Two-Bit doesn't look such a hood, he gets away with a lot more.

* * *

I really can't stomach, or think about drinking beer. I leave them all at the tavern and make my way to a nearby diner in search of a hot cup of coffee.

It's a typical country diner, but cosy. A log fire is burning in the far right hand corner, and I sit down next to it. I order a coffee and proceed to read the daily paper, taking in the advantage of having no Darry around to nag me about it. There's not much happening, must be a quiet day in Vietnam.

Two voices can be heard arguing, bored, I eavesdrop.

"I can't believe you are doing this?" It's a male voice.

I glance up at the table near the window. The guy has dark hair, kinda of good looking and definitely early 20's. The girl has red hair. It's the first thing I notice, but then that's nothing new for me. I can't see her face as her back is towards me.

"Why?" she flings back at him. "Someone has too."

"Why Vietnam?!" he demands. "Why would you even want to go there?"

My curiosity is certainly aroused now. For one, it's usually the guys going to Vietnam and not girls, but it's so obvious this girl is. They must be a couple.

"This is killing mom and dad," the guy continues.

Okay, so they are brother and sister?

"It's not as if I'm going to be on the front lines," she returns heatedly. "Girls aren't deemed fit enough for that."

The guy rakes a hand through his neatly styled hair.

"You still into that feminist bull shit?"

"I don't expect you to understand!"

God, her voice is so familiar. It's nagging at some half-forgotten memory.

"I'm trying to understand. I just don't get why you would join the ANC?"

My memory begins to slip into over drive. ANC, think Pony, you know that term. Then it hits me; Army Nursing Corps. That's why she's going to Vietnam. She's gonna be a nurse there. Shit, but why would anyone ever want a job like that? The next spoken words send me into a tail spin.

"Good god, Cherry, have you lost your mind?"

I freeze. Cherry. Nah. Not Cherry. Why would she be here? I glance up, heart beat increasing. Okay, she does have red hair, so do quite a lot of women. It's not her.

I don't bother to hang around to find out. Getting out of my chair, I leave the diner. Soon as I'm out the door, I light a cigarette.

That whole scene … I must have been imagining that … I … it's not her … it's …

The door slams open and I jump startled. She nearly bowls me over in her haste to leave that diner. My cigarette falls to the ground along with my lighter.

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaim.

She rounds on me so fast, I can barely bend over to retrieve my cigarette.

"Maybe it's a sign from Jesus to give up smoking," she growls.

My eyes widen. It's her. There's no denying it. Her face is a bit harder, but still pretty. Her hair brushes her shoulders and is just like I remember.

"Maybe so," I slowly return, because I don't know what else to say.

She obviously doesn't recognize me. I'm kinda of relieved. Maybe I can just slink away … maybe I …

Her eyes narrow. "Do I know you?"

I swallow. Four years ain't really that long ago, but I was just 14 then and small for my age. I'm six foot now. I'm not a kid anymore. Not really. I don't expect her to know.

"Ponyboy?!" she exclaims.

Oh, damn.

"Cherry," I say. She always was shrewd now that I think about it.

Her eyes rake over me, wondering and I see the question formulating in her head, especially when her gaze rests on my hair. She frowns.

"God, no," she hisses.

I scowl.

"You joined the Army?"

"Not by choice," I hastily return.

Her face softens. "You got drafted?"

I nod. "Unlike you." The words are out before I realize it.

"I didn't mean it like that," I stammer. "It's none of my business. I just heard you talking in the diner."

A cool mask steals over her face. "Someone's got to do it, and I am a nurse."

I know, I feel like saying. Marcia had told me.

"I think it's really brave."

A slow smile crosses her face. "Not just stupid?"

I shrug. "Ain't this whole war pointless anyway?"

Her smile widens. "Yeah."

I've managed to pick up my cigarette from the ground. I need something to distract me.

"I think we're living in an age of stupidity so we might as well be part of it," I quip. "Don't think we have much choice about it."

I look at the soggy cigarette. "Damn."

Much to my surprise, she pulls out a packet of cigarettes from her purse and hands me one.

"I didn't think you smoked?"

"Times change," she returns with a sigh.

They sure did and I pull out a cigarette from the packet. She lights it for me and one for herself. And this is just too surreal. Me and her, running into each other in a corner of the world you'd least expect.

"You've got tall," she remarks after we puff away for a whole ten seconds of silence.

"You're still feisty," I return.

I see the smile tilt up the corners of her mouth.

"When are you leaving for Vietnam?" she asks, drawing back on her cigarette.

"One week and you?"

"Two days."

I just about choke on the smoke. My eyes water. She's really doing it. I still can't believe it.

"I'll be flying out to Bien Hoa Air base," she continues.

Again, I find myself wondering why she is doing this. I really thought she would have maybe been married by now, to some well-off good looking guy with a top notch profession, fitting for her class. Then I remember Marcia saying how she hates all men now and that probably explains it.

I have to pinch myself to make sure this is all real.

"And you?" she continues.

I don't want to say, because I know it's bad, like cannon fodder bad, but I find myself murmuring, "11th Bravo … infantry." And hope she doesn't know anything about what a MOS is.

There's silence, and I chance a glance at her face. She knows I'm screwed. I see the sympathy in her eyes, followed by a flash of anger.

"I can't believe it," she hisses. "Not you."

I shrug as if it's nothing. I don't know what to say. We both flick our cigarettes into a nearby ashtray. I can tell she's still upset. It surprises me. I also feel my no good curiosity pique.

"Is this what you want?" I can't help asking. "Being a nurse in Vietnam?"

She sighs and glances away.

"Guess I want to feel useful," she murmurs softly. "You get it?"

I swallow and nod. "I do".

Her face softens and she looks hell pretty.

"Of course you do. You always did."

There is a wistful note in her voice. "Besides … what else am I going to do?"

I don't know how to answer that, but I don't miss a flicker of hurt mixed with such bitterness in her eyes. Someone sure did a number on her. Is that why she hates all men now? Though, she doesn't appear to hate me, maybe she still sees me as a boy.

"The guy in the diner," I begin, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"No, he's my brother. I thought I would see him before leaving for Vietnam," she sighs. "Now I wish I hadn't."

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, much like the night I told her: _'we don't need your charity.'_

"No one understands why I'm doing this. They all think I'm crazy."

I don't know why either, and it is crazy, though I really do understand her need to feel useful.

"I just want to make a bit of a difference, somewhere," she sighs, a strand of red hair brushes across her mouth.

She is so beautiful that I can't drag my eyes away from her face. I know I'm staring. Her eyes lock with mine. It feels as if time has stopped. Is she assessing me? Don't be stupid, I mentally chide.

A slow smile crosses her face. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, I think you're about the only person who has."

She tucks the errant strand of hair behind her ear. I just stand there dumbfounded. _You still gotta a voice or what,_ I silently chide, _isn't about time you use it._

"Is it true you're a feminist now?" I lightly quip.

Great going, I inwardly mutter.

Her smile widens. "You overheard that too?"

"I ran into Marcia a couple of months back, and she mentioned it."

Surprise lights up her face. "I haven't seen her in years," she murmurs a distant look in her eyes. "Seems like another lifetime now."

Her gaze returns to me, a smile tilting up the corners of her mouth. "She tell you I'm a balls breaking, man hating feminist now?"

I quirk an eye brow. "She left out the balls breaking part."

Cherry laughs, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"Well it's true. I am."

A feel a slow smile cross my face. "Should I be afraid?" I quip.

She shakes her head, still smiling and looks at me fondly.

"You don't ever have to be afraid of me, Ponyboy."

Her smile is so warm I feel my toes curl. Just then the door to the diner opens and her brother steps out. The smile leaves Cherry's face. Her brother glances my way, frowning. I don't know what to make of that. Then his eyes meet with Cherry's.

"Who's this?"

I can feel the tension between the two of them.

"Hi, I'm Ponyboy," I say.

He scowls. "Are you joking with me?"

"No. It's my real name."

The guy's a bit of a jerk. I wonder what the rest of her family members are like. Cherry's turns to him, I see she is annoyed with him.

"I'll meet you in the car, Ed. Can you give me a moment, alone?"

Ed, doesn't like it, I can see, but he turns and storms off to the car.

She gives me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry about that. He's just being … overly protective."

I want to ask why, but it's really none of my business.

"It's okay. It's real nice seeing you again. Never thought I would."

She takes hold of my hands and squeezes them. The simple contact makes my heart thump loudly in my chest.

"You are still you, Pony. It's special. Don't lose it."

I just nod, not knowing what to say.

"I better not see you in Vietnam," she continues, deep emotion flickering in her eyes. "You better survive, Ponyboy."

Indecision skitters across her face, and something else; a deep sadness. It puzzles me. Whatever had happened to her to put it there?

"Screw the good dying young. You're not."

My breath hitches in my throat. "I'll try not to."

I've made this promise countless times over. And she knows it. I see it in her eyes. But we all still need this reassurance. I have a strange urge to comfort her, but before I can say anything, she let's go of my hands.

"Bye, Pony," she sighs sadly and turns away.

"Bye … Cherry," I call after her.

I watch her walk to her red corvette. I want to call her back. She stops, turns and gives me a wave. I wave back. I'm thinking I'm dreaming. I've conjured her out of thin air somehow, in my need to want to see her again. A need I thought I'd gotten over.

I curse the wanting. No way would someone like her ever look twice at me. And she's going to Vietnam, as a nurse, of her own choice and damn; somethings just turn out in a way you least expect.

* * *

Of course now that I've seen her again, I can't stop thinking about her. I barely say a word in the truck on the way back to the cabin. Steve and Soda are on the front seat, Two-Bit and I are in the back. He's looking at me strangely.

"What's with you?" he eventually asks. "You're just sitting there all quiet like with a dopey expression on ya face. Something happen at the diner?"

"Yeah, I ran into Cherry."

Two-Bit cocks an eyebrow. "As in the red-headed Cherry you've had a thing for since you were 14?"

I nod.

"What's she like?"

Where do I even begin with that?

"Still feisty, but kind."

She's so real. I've never known a girl to be so full of life, and beautiful, but it's not just an outer type of beauty, its inside too.

"I don't believe it," Two-Bit hisses.

I frown at him.

"Don't tell me," he continues and raps me across the head with his knuckles.

"Oww!" I snap, rubbing my head, scowling at him. "What was that for?"

"Bring you back to your senses, Pony, because you have this stupid _'I'm in love'_ look on ya face."

"No I don't," I scoff.

Two-Bit merely rolls his eyes. "Just forget her. You ain't probably ever gonna see her again and …"

"I might," I return. "She's going to Vietnam, she's enlisted in the ANC."

That shuts him up. I see the surprise on his face which is replaced with admiration.

"Well I'll be. That takes guts."

"Yeah, it does." And now that I think about it, it's not that surprising. She's always been different. Always wanting to help, wanting to fix things.

"You're screwed," Two-Bit mutters alongside me. "Don't go getting your hopes up. Now ain't the time for this."

"I'm not stupid," I retort. "I know I'll probably never see her again, but don't you think it's odd that I happen to run into her here?"

Two-Bit snorts. "You think its fate?"

He shakes his head. "Let me tell you, Pony, fate is a fickle bitch."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me something I don't know."

Two-Bit lights a cigarette. I do the same, glad to have him here, glad I'm not the only one trying to tackle with the enormity and uncertainty of my future.

We puff away in silence for a moment. I think back to the store.

"What magazine did you steal?" I ask him.

He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the magazine.

"I got it for you."

I frown down at the cover and gingerly take it.

"Playboy," I exclaim, my frown deepening. I should have known.

"You, my friend, need to study this in detail and forget all about Cherry Valance."

I don't bother to argue with him. I stare up at the sky, the clouds tinged with orange and pink as the sun sets.

I wonder if Cherry is watching the sunset too. I wonder what she is thinking. Does she regret joining the ANC, despite saying otherwise? I still think something must have happened to her to put the sadness in her eyes. Maybe that is why she enlisted. Maybe she is running from something, or someone?

"You're thinking about her, ain't you?" Two-Bit speaks.

"Course not," I return.

"Liar."

I sigh. "So what if I am, can't help it."

"Might as well," Two-Bit says, "Guess it ain't gonna really hurt any."

* * *

We roast hot dogs over a camp fire. I make sure mine is thoroughly cooked. No way am I ever gonna chance getting food poisoning again. That memory will stick with me forever. Everyone is drinking beer except me. I glance at Two-Bit, who had his first beer when we were fishing, and now he's probably on his sixth, and that's not counting what he had at the tavern. As I wasn't there. I don't know how he does it. _'Strong constitution, Pony,'_ he tells me.

"Hey, Two-Bit. You give Ponyboy the magazine yet?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, I gave it to him.'

Steve glances at me. "So, I hope you appreciate our thoughtful gift."

"It's not a gift," I snort. "Two-Bit stole it, I saw him."

"Hey, it's the thought that counts, Pony," Two-Bit interjects.

"You might learn a thing or two," Steve continues. "Like how to get it up for starters."

Everyone snickers.

"I don't need a magazine to get it up," I return. "I have this." I tap my head. "It's called an imagination, but then you need a brain for that."

Steve scowls. "Real funny, Kid."

Soda laughs. "He got you good."

I don't bother hiding the grin on my face.

"It should come in handy if I need something to wipe my ass with when stuck in the jungle," I quip. "I can just rip a page out, read then wipe."

The only other person laughing is Two-Bit, I can see no one else gets it. They look a bit grossed out. I guess you have to go through basic training, I muse. No shrinking violets in there. There is no place for modesty and if you are, it won't last for long.

"So, you just imagine up a girl for yerself, in ya head?" Steve smirks.

"Does she have red hair?" Soda asks.

I go still. I see Two-Bit is grinning. "They always have red hair, Soda," he returns.

There's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Naturally my thoughts return to Cherry. I zone out. Voices are conversing around me, but I'm not listening.

"Ponyboy," Darry says. "Ponyboy!"

I glance up at Darry. "What?"

"What's with you, you've gone quiet."

"He's in love," Two-Bit pipes up.

Darry raises an amused eyebrow. "How exactly and when?"

"He ran into Cherry Valance at the diner," Two-Bit continues.

I glare at him. I'm gonna kill him. Screw the Viet Cong getting to do it. Two-Bit always has far too much to say when he drinks.

"She's good looking, but I ain't in love with her," I state.

Everyone is staring at me. Steve scowls. "Is that the high class Socy broad who was a spy for us before the big rumble?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"Man, she had some nerve. Driving into the vacant lot that night after Two-Bit was jumped," Steve continues, his eyes rest of me narrowing. "Tell me you ain't in love with her?!"

As if that would be the worst thing ever, I silently fume.

"I already told you I'm not in love and it's not as if your taste in girls is any better, look at Evie, enough said."

A malicious smile crosses Steve's face. "A bit testy there, Ponyboy."

"You did have a crush on her when you were 14," Soda points out.

My face reddens. I'm wishing the earth opens up and swallows me whole.

"She's a high class girl, well out of your league," Steve points out.

Soda scowls at him. "Hey, no broad is too good for my little brother."

"If you ask me," Two-Bit pipes up. "I don't think she's good enough for Ponyboy."

I roll my eyes as they all bicker about it. Then my gaze rests on Darry, who is sitting there quietly, gazing into the fire. His expression is unreadable. He looks faraway. I wonder what he's thinking.

Pulling up my chair, I go and sit next to him. Thankfully, Soda, Steve and Two-Bit were now comparing greaser girls with soc girls, which means they've forgotten about me.

Darry's still staring into that fire, a rather intense look on his face.

"What'cha think Darry?" I ask.

"Just remembering when Dad used to take us hunting."

I remember. Soda and I used to muck around too much, scare the ducks away. I didn't like shooting things. Looking into Darry's face I know he's thinking the same thing and all because I've what I said this morning, about the gooks, about them being people too. I wish I could take that back.

"You know I've been in enough war zones in my own backyard, several rumbles," I say, because it's true.

It's not like I've had a sheltered privileged upbringing. Luckily, brothers that loved me and buddies that cared, we made our own family. When you're poor you've got nothing else but each other.

"I've already seen death, Darry," I continue.

They all forget that. "Three times," I stress, "Bob, when Johnny stabbed him."

I remember the pool of blood, dark and swirling around him. I remember throwing up.

"I saw Johnny die, I heard his last words," my voice shook slightly, they all forget that I was there when Johnny died. Johnny telling me to stay gold, and then he was gone. Like the light inside of him had been switched off. I was in denial. Johnny can't be dead. I remember the numb shock. I remember Dally losing it, begging for Johnny not to die. None of us can ever forget the fallout.

"I saw Dally shot down with bullets."

Darry's pained gaze meets with mine.

"I lost my parents at 13," I continue in a dull voice. "There are guys going to Vietnam, years older than me that the only death they've known is a loss of their pet dog, or cat. Pity them. Least I've got an idea of what I'm in for."

Raising a hand, Darry rests it on my shoulder. "Yeah," he sighs deeply. "I guess you do. You've had it tough. You're a good kid, Ponyboy, too good. Mature for your age."

His words of praise warm me. I'd spent the last four years wanting to hear them.

He raises a hand and ruffles my hair. "You better come back, Ponyboy." I see the fierce love in his eyes. "You do what you have to do, to survive."

His words haunt me, much like Cherry's. I promise what I can. It's the only peace of mind anyone of us can get. If I had a crystal to ball to rub, see my future, see if I actually have one, then I could keep the promises I make.

Only, life doesn't work that way. I find myself not making future plans. Just in case.

* * *

Two-Bit stumbles over to me with a bottle of bourbon. He shoves a mug in my hand, pouring bourbon in it.

"Drink up Pony. We are having fun and you don't look like ya having any yet."

What the hell, so much for not drinking. I raise the mug to my mouth and take a long swig. It burns as it goes down but it feels good.

Two-Bit pats me on the back. "That'll put hair on ya chest."

He waves the bottle in front of Darry. "What about it, Superman?"

Much to my surprise, Darry says what I was just thinking. "Why not, what the hell."

* * *

Two-Bit's in fine form. Making us laugh, making us forget. We sing songs around the campfire, roast marshmallows, burn our tongues on them, numb it with alcohol and talk about stupid random guy stuff.

I can forget. Forget about everything for a while, live in this moment.

Two-Bit does a really good Elvis Presley impersonation. I've personally moved on from his music. I find myself listening to darker stuff now, like The Doors. I don't know why I like it. No one else gets it either. They look at me as if I'm odd. Just that the lyrics of their songs kinda make sense to me in a world that doesn't; _strange days have found us, strange days have tracked us down. They're going to destroy our casual joys._

It makes sense is all.

.

.

* * *

 _._

 _._

 **A/N:** This chapter took forever to write! Just the flow wasn't happening as much, and I kept deliberating too much! I guess I tried to capture more fun moments but I just don't think I did, well not as I would have liked because the ideas were not flowing in that way. They kept going too much in the serious mode. In the end I'm tearing my hair out. So, I'm just gonna post it anyway and hope people like it :) It's the best I can do for now. I try my best to capture the time period and it's fun to do, but also challenging.

I really like to know what people think, for better or worse. Okay, maybe not so much the worse :D Constructive criticism, however, is fine. Most importantly tell me what you like the most. I could do with the feedback.

Cheers!

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	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Sorry about the wait! I've been SO busy at work and the writing muse has been temperamental as a result. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this story! Keep them coming! Reviews do make my day!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter Twelve.**_

* * *

.

.

The days slip by too quickly. I try to catch them in my hands, but I can't. I can't hold onto time, I have to live it. Though it terrifies me. It's not the thought of dying that frightens me as much as what I'll lose.

Every day I look into my brother's eyes and I see the worry, the fear.

I get it. Either one of us losing each other is unthinkable; we've already lost so much. I try not to think about it, but it's all around me; the news, the protests and the often hostile stares I get when I walk down the street.

It's not like I have a choice. Not my fault the world has turned crazy. It's like I'm existing in it, but not living it. How can I?

I try functioning like a regular human being. I went to the movies with Sally on the Sunday night. I do like her, just that something is lacking … I don't know. Ever since running into Cherry, my thoughts have been distracted. I find myself scouring the papers for any information of nurses in Vietnam, but there is never anything about them. I guess it's not newsworthy enough. Cherry would say, _'it's because we're women'_. She could be right about that. I can see her getting mad about it, fiery sparks dancing in her blue eyes.

She would be in Vietnam by now. It's hard to imagine her there. The popular girl in school, with her fancy car and good looking boyfriends. Head cheer leader who had it all. She's beautiful. She could have any guy she wanted. Instead, she joins the VNC and goes to Vietnam. Why? I know she mentioned about wanting to do something important, but hell, there are plenty of other important things to do out there.

I don't know what would be worse, fighting in the jungle and getting shot at, or worst still, stepping on a mine and having your legs blown off, or seeing the aftermath of it and treating the poor guy suffering the injuries?

I don't want to think about these things, but I do. I've even stopped reading the newspaper. I've read enough. It makes me feel sick in the stomach. Soon I'll get to see it with my own eyes. I don't need a daily constant reminder of it.

* * *

The days take a surreal quality to them. I get the photos of our camping trip back from the camera shop a day before I'm to leave. They bring a smile to my lips, capturing the memories, the fun and stupidity young guys get up to. I wonder if I'll have that again. I don't mean dying. I mean even if I survive, will I remember being young and stupid?

* * *

Two-Bit drags me off to the tavern.

"It's only two in the afternoon," I protest.

I'm wanting to browse in the camera shop for a bit longer, dream about the possibilities of a really good camera and debate with the shop owner over the merit of colored film.

"It's our last day, Pony."

"It's not like there won't be any beer over there," I tell him.

Along with plenty of other drugs. Darry has already given me a big lecture on the drug culture over there. He told me about how some guy, whom he worked with, younger brother came back from the war a heroin addict.

' _I'm not stupid,' I'd informed him._

But he still had that stern look on his face.

' _It's not about being stupid, Ponyboy. It's about how you'll cope with what you have to do or see over there.'_

My gut tightens at the thought. I get what he's trying to say. Like Two-Bit drinks too much beer and why? Whenever I ask him that, I never get a straight answer. So I've stopped asking.

The funny thing is that I kind of like the taste of beer and the slight head rush I get from it. After a few beers I feel relaxed and find it easier to talk too. So, in part, I get it. Darry's hands rest on my shoulders. His gaze searching mine as if he's trying to get in my head.

What can I say?

' _I'll try, Darry.'_

Try not to get killed. Try not to get my legs blown off. Try not to get addicted to drugs. Try to keep hold of my sanity.

* * *

I give in to Two-Bit as I generally do. It is our last day. I kinda just want it all to be over, and yet I want time to stop so I don't have to leave. Why not spend the next three hours drinking beer in a seedy tavern, good use of time. What else is there to do? I'm always waiting. That's all I've done since being drafted into the Army.

Two-Bit and I play some pool, but we are both quieter than normal. Even Two-Bit isn't downing his beers with his usual gusto. He's prattling on about the two good looking broads at the bar.

"Nothing like a good set of jugs," he quips. "Might as well enjoy the view, I hear the gook women don't have any."

I roll my eyes. And he continues with his visual description of the female's anatomy, but I can tell he's just talking for the sake of making conversation. I have the eight ball in my sight. I've got this.

"Take it you didn't get Sally into the sack?" Two-Bit chimes up and I off cue the ball.

It misses the appointed pocket.

"Shit," I hiss, knowing Two-Bit deliberately said it to throw me off balance.

Now he has the perfect shot and is gonna win the game. I glare at him.

He grins, pats me on the back. "Gets ya every time, Pony." He raises an eyebrow. "And I take it your still a virgin."

The two girls at the bar glance our way.

"You wanna say that any louder," I mutter, my face reddens.

Two-Bit lines up the eight ball and sinks it in the pocket. He straightens up, the same stupid grin on his face. He glances in the direction of the two girls.

"I think they are checking you out, Pony. Let's go over to the bar and order another beer."

I follow reluctantly, shoving my hands in my pockets. I already know the girls at the bar are not the girls I generally like. For one they wear too much make-up. Their dresses are so short that not much is left to the imagination. Nice legs though, both of them. I wonder why they are hanging out in a tavern at just four in the afternoon. Don't they have no place to go? What action is gonna be had here? I think of my mom, and I know she never done stuff like this. So I'm just suspicious. Two-Bit just sees pretty girls and tits and doesn't think too straight after that. I can't blame him that, maybe it's just me, maybe I'm just odd.

* * *

The last night is always going to be hard. It turns out to be even harder than I thought it would be. Which really sucks. Conversation is stilted at dinner. Sodapop looks as miserable as I feel. Even Darry is struggling. I just can't bear to see it anymore.

I realize I still haven't packed my duffle bag or ironed my uniform. It's a good excuse to leave the dinner table.

"I gotta go pack," I say and quickly retreat to my bedroom.

I rake a hand through my hair as I pace the small confines of my bedroom. Everything is full of memories. This is what I find particularly hard, it's as if I have to remember everything before I leave, just in case I don't come back. And the problem with memories is all the attached emotions that come with them. I find myself picking up old memorabilia from my childhood. The baseball cards me and Soda use to collect when I was nine. I can't believe I still have them. There is the stack of worn looking exercise books from days at school. They've been sitting on my desk collecting dust for the last several years. I don't know why I haven't thrown them out? Maybe I take comfort from hoarding what little belongings I have. We really didn't have much growing up, my parents struggled to make ends meet, so anything we did get we kept and hoarded and cherished. I turn back around and glance down at the uniforms on my bed.

I can't keep putting off the inevitable. Picking up the duffle bag from the floor, I put it on my bed. I start shoving the basic items of clothing in it: socks, jocks and the plain khaki t-shirts the Army supplied. There are two types of Army uniforms. One is the combat uniform and the other is the Army greens service uniform. They are both laid out neatly on my bed and ironed. Darry no doubt ironed and put them there. The uniforms only serve to remind me of the enormity of my situation.

I'm really leaving. I'm really gonna fight in a war I have no say or choice in.

Spinning around I direct my attention back to my relatively tidy desk. Don't think about it. Don't think … and that's another thing the Army has changed about me; it's made me a lot neater. There was a time you couldn't see my desk for the clothes and books strewn on it. It was the same with my bedroom floor. Everything is now carefully put in its allocated place on my desk.

I pick up the camera and stare at it. Am I really gonna have time to take photos, and will I want too? I put it in the bag anyway.

I make sure the last photo dad took of me and Soda is tucked away safely in my army green shirt pocket.

I find _Gone with the Wind_ in the desk drawer. I pull it out. Johnny's letter is still tucked inside and I carefully open it.

I feel for my reading glasses in my pocket. Reading is a bitch without them now and I take them everywhere with me. I'm always wearing flannel shirts with pockets so that I have a place for them. Two-Bit finds this hilarious and teases me mercifully about it, which I'm so used to by now that its water off a ducks back.

I perch the glasses on my nose and read the letter. For a long while, years even, I couldn't look at it. It always brought back such a flood of memories and emotions that I'd crawl under my blankets sobbing, wishing things had turned out differently. Wishing I could change everything.

I blamed myself. It should have been me that died after all it was my idea to go running into the church to save those kids.

Johnny would tell me that I just beat him to the window, and I know he was directly behind me. Whether I had been there or not, he would have tried to save those kids. But when I was so blindsided by my grief it was hard to see or think rationally.

It just didn't seem fair. Why Johnny? He'd never hurt anyone.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I read through the letter. Unlike before, the letter now gives me comfort and a sort of bitter wistfulness. _There's still a lot of good in the world. Tell Dally._ Too late to tell Dally anything now. _I don't think he knows._ Dally died never to know, but then Dally might never have been able to see the good in the world. Was it too late for him? Had he'd become so hard in order to survive that he knew no differently? Will that happen to me in Vietnam?

I shiver slightly. _Like the way you dig sunsets, Pony. That's gold. Keep that way, it's a good way to be._ I don't know if I can. I don't think I'll have a choice. _It's kill or be killed._ That's all I heard during training.

My breath hitches in my throat and it feels like the four walls of my room are closing in around me. I have to get out of there.

Grabbing my pack of smokes, I hurriedly walk through the house and out to the front porch. I can hear Darry and Sodapop talking softly in the kitchen. I know they are talking about me, but I can't face them right now. I can't handle seeing the concern mingled with such sadness. What can I say?

The front flyscreen door flies open and I storm outside.

I'm surprised to see Two-Bit sitting there on the old beat up sofa. His face is pale. He's puffing away on a cigarette, frowning.

Last night is always a bitch. I slump down next to him. I don't need to ask what's wrong. We are both feeling it, wanting to numb the raw pain inside of leaving our families and friends behind us. Will we see them again? Will this be our last night here … on our own soil?

I pull a cigarette out from my packet and light it. My hands shake slightly.

"What'da reckon our chances of coming back in one piece are?" Two-Bit asks.

"I don't know," I reply, drawing back deeply on the cigarette.

We sit in silence, contemplating our fate. Whether or not we have a future? Do you dare to hope or dream?

"I reckon it's all about being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the right place at the right time," Two-Bit continues.

I mumble in agreement.

"You don't play hero, Pony."

We've had this conversation before. Too many times.

"You too," I mutter.

He just lets out a brief laugh. "No need to worry about that. I ain't sticking my neck out for anyone except protecting your arse."

I know he'll do anything to save me and vice versa. Two-Bit's sense of loyalty is stronger than anyone else I know. Just as strong as my brothers. I also know there's a hell of a lot more too Two-Bit than he'll really let anyone else see. He's says he won't play hero, yeah right.

I know differently.

I take comfort from the thought that at least I'm not going through this alone. I wonder if Two-Bit is having second thoughts. What he did was such a big thing. It could cost him his life. I want to tell him he shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have decided to follow me to hell. But I know it'll annoy him. There's no point in saying anything about it now, too late. Guess it's always been too late since the day he signed the paperwork and put his life into the hands of the United States Army.

* * *

I'm up at the crack of dawn and making my way to the cemetery. There is just one thing left to do before I leave. I have to visit Johnny's grave. Just in case I don't ever get home. Now that the day has arrived, everything around me seems infinitely more precious, even in my rundown neighborhood. It's really all I've ever known.

The days are starting to get longer now it's late March. Flowers are beginning to bloom. The air is still and crisp.

I walk quickly to Johnny's grave. I remember how we had all chipped together what little money we had to get a head stone for Johnny and Dallas' graves. Tim Shepherd had been really generous and none of us questioned where he'd got so much money. I don't think we cared. It just didn't seem right that Johnny lay in an unmarked grave. I miss him so much, you'll think I'd be over it by now. Maybe not enough time has passed.

I shove my hands in my pockets as I stand at the foot of his grave and something occurs to me. Johnny got to die with his innocence of youth still intact. I almost envy him that. Because now I'm afraid of just how much I might lose of myself in Vietnam.

"So here I am," I say in a soft sad tone of voice. "Might be the last time, Johnny."

The cool morning breeze caresses my face as I wrap my arms around myself.

"I don't know what's gonna happen," I continue, my voice cracking.

 _You're not alone, Pony._ A voice whispers, or maybe it's the wind in the trees, or more than likely my over active imagination. I like to think part of Johnny is always with me. I want to believe that somehow he can hear and see me. I almost swear I can feel his presence. I stand there so still, watching the grey clouds begin to turn pink then gold, remembering that morning from long ago. Johnny, sunrises, colors and Robert Frost. _Nothing gold can stay._ It's so true. Johnny was gold and couldn't stay. I know I won't _stay gold_ either, despite Johnny asking me too.

I want to stay longer, it's strangely peaceful in the cemetery, but time is always moving and I know Darry is planning a big breakfast before I leave.

"See ya around, Johnny," I murmur.

* * *

Darry has breakfast laid out of the table by the time I return home. He's gone all out. There's bacon, eggs, hash browns and those chipolata sausages. I'm surprisingly hungry too. Darry trying to fatten me up these last two weeks is an understatement. I swear he made me stand on the scales my first day back to check my weight, and then he made me stand on them last night to see if I'd gained any weight. I didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed that I had only gained four pounds. He didn't look too happy about it, but how much weight can he expect me to gain in two weeks? I thought four pounds was pretty good.

"Still trying to fatten me up," I quip as I sit down.

"I think I'm about done with that," he mutters and sits down next to me. "I swear you must have hollow legs, Pony."

"It looks great," I continue, piling my plate with food.

I know this will make Darry happy and it might be the last time I ever get to do that. And just don't think it, I silently chide myself, you always have to go there don't you. Not only that, but it's gonna be a long while before I'll get to eat food of this quality again.

Soda comes stumbling into the kitchen, drying his hair off with a towel. His eyes light up at the sight of the food.

"Man, I'm starving."

He drops his towel on the bench and Darry gives him a stern look. "That ain't the laundry basket."

Soda rolls his eyes, he grabs the towel and stomps off to the laundry grumbling. I suddenly realize just how much I'm gonna miss all of this. _Don't think about it, Pony_ , I tell myself and force a smile to my lips.

Soda returns and helps himself to the food. We chatter like it's just any other regular morning only this is anything but that. _Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die._ I don't know where that crazy thought came from. Just a verse I once learned in children's church. I remember asking my Mom about the meaning of it. ' _Why should they be merry before they die? Shouldn't they be sad?'_ She just smiled in that patient way she had. _'I guess if you had only one day left to live you would want to spend it living, being alive and not crying over what you can't change, but making the most of what time you have left on this earth. You understand, Ponyboy?'_

Yeah, I totally get it now Mom. I shove a forkful of bacon in my mouth as tears sting at the back of my eyes.

* * *

How many times do I have to say goodbye. Of course this time it's totally different, because this time I might not come back.

My throat tightens with unshed tears. I don't want to cry in front of my brothers. I'm trying to hold it together as we drive to the depot. Even Two-Bit is unusually quiet.

I glance at Soda out of the corner of my eye and feel a lump lodge in my throat. To make matters worse I can see the tears trickle down his face.

He swipes at his nose. "Aww, sorry, Pony," he says, looking miserable, "Try to be strong, just can't help it."

He sniffs. "You know me, always the cry baby."

I lean my head on his shoulder, no longer bothering to fight back my own tears. What's the point?

Soda's arm is around me. He ruffles my hair with his other free hand before kissing the top of my head. I let him hold me, I take comfort from it. It might be the last time. I might never know this again. My heart is breaking.

* * *

Darry pulls me into a big bear hug once out of the car. He hugs me so tight I can barely breath.

"Just come back, Kiddo," he says, his voice catching in his throat. "Do what you've got to do to survive."

"Sure," I manage to mumble.

He pulls back, his hands resting on my shoulders. His gaze rakes over me before resting on my face. There is a fierce intensity in his eyes, as if he's committing my image to memory. I find myself doing the same thing, committing both of my brother's sad and shadowed faces to my memory. I find myself longing to see Soda laugh, his eyes alight with happiness and sometimes mischief, but always full of life. I want to remember Darry's firm, but ever constant strength that holds all of us together. I hate seeing them this way; so sad and heartbroken.

* * *

I stop before boarding the bus and slowly turn, my eyes searching one last time for my brothers.

I see them. I numbly wipe the tears from my eyes. I have to believe I'll come home, that I'll see them again, that we'll get to laugh and be happy one day.

Two-Bit places a hand on my shoulder. "C'mon, Pony. Time to go."

I manage to tear my gaze from my brothers, make my feet move and climb abroad the bus.

* * *

We travel by bus to Oklahoma City. From there we have to board a plane to San Francisco. I have my emotions in check now and a numbness has taken hold.

Neither Two-Bit or myself have been on a plane before. This is a novelty for me and at least a distraction too. I can't stop gazing out the small airplane window. Everything was so small below us. It almost doesn't even look real, like miniature plastic models.

"You should see this, Two-Bit. You're missing out," I keep saying to him.

Two-Bit is looking a bit green. "Nah, I'm good."

I smile, amused. I've never seen Two-Bit afraid of anything. "Safer in a plane than a car," I tell him.

He doesn't look convinced.

"You reckon it's too early for a beer?" he mutters.

* * *

It was a four hour flight to San Francisco and it's the first time I've ever seen the ocean, except on television and in the movies. It's so blue and I'm amazed by the beauty of it. I've never been to a beach. I suddenly realise how little of life I've experienced. I remember Johnny's words, _sixteen years ain't long enough. I wouldn't mind it so much if there wasn't so much stuff I ain't done yet and so many things I ain't seen._

Here I am 18. I don't want to die either, because there is so much I haven't seen or done, like walk on a beach and feel the soft sand on my bare feet.

I'm just getting a glimpse of it through the bus window as it drives us to the Oakland Army base. Our last pit stop before we fly to Vietnam.

* * *

The Oakland Army Base is a very large aircraft hangar in a fenced off area of the base surrounded by MPs. There are thousands of soldiers in the hangar with bunks two rows high as far as the eyes can see. Everyone in the hangar is on their way to Vietnam. We just have to wait until our names are called and then we will be escorted by MPs to a waiting aircraft and on our way to Vietnam.

We're herded like cattle. A number. A faceless mob.

And once again we are waiting. Always waiting. I numbly wonder if there will be a day when I don't have to wait.

* * *

We're loaded up onto a chartered Boeing 707 Jetliner. Two-Bit is a bit calmer this time around. I guess he'd starting to get use to flying.

The hum of the plane's engines lure me into a restless sleep. No one seems much in the mood for conversation.

* * *

We land at Ton Son Nhut Air Base just north of Saigon. In total the trip has taken about 25 hours from when we left the world in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I feel strange, distant, as if I'm not really there and all of this is just a dream.

Until Two-Bit nudges me from behind. "Get moving, Pony." And I realize that no one is in front of me in the aisle. I stumble up the aisle and step through the doorway into the blinding, glaring harsh light of day.

The first thing that hits me is the heat, the stifling humidity and the smell.

"Shit," Two-Bit mutters under his breath. "This place stinks like hell."

My stomach rolls as we both catch up with the guys in front. You hear lots of different things about life in Vietnam, and you try to picture it in your mind, but it's nothing like I'd imagined.

As we're leaving, a line of soldiers are waiting to board the aircraft and fly home.

"Welcome to Vietnam," one of them says as we walk pass. "You're in for the shit now."

Two-Bit and I exchange a glance. We ignore them as we continue to walk.

"Welcome to VN, you FNG's."

I didn't need to spell it out to get it meant 'fucking new guys'.

I notice that the few men that look most rugged say nothing and just stare ahead. They were skinnier with sunken eyes. And I know, with dread, these were the infantrymen who were doing the fighting. I can't help wondering if I'll end up looking like them after a year. I shiver despite the heat.

* * *

The Ton Son Nhut Air Base is a massive military base with all sorts of aircraft taking off and landing. There are soldiers and civilians all over the place. It's a shock to the system. Everything feels alien to me. I shouldn't be here. What am I doing here? This is just wrong. I don't know if Two-Bit feels the same way. He's been pretty quiet so far. That doesn't reassure me. He must be feeling as disorientated as I am.

We're loaded onto olive drab military buses similar to civilian buses except for the mesh wiring covering the windows.

"The wire is there to protect you, just in case a civilian decides to throw a grenade as we pass by," the driver informs.

Two-Bit exchanges a grim look with me as we sit down. I feel vulnerable and all I can think is that I'm so gonna die in this place.

We're being driven to the 22nd Replacement Depo in Long Bien. I gaze out the window looking upon the foreign landscape and it's like nothing I've ever seen. Small three wheeled motorized vehicles full of people and motorcycles with two or even three people hanging on are riding all around us. I keep expecting someone to throw hand grenades at the bus, but no one really notices us. Everything is so busy. The young women wear pants with a long slit type dress covering over the pants. They are so small. So different from the girls back home. It bizarre. My little corner of the world, it knew some violence, but this … we really were so protected. Greasers and Socs … it means nothing in the larger scheme of things. It means nothing now. Again I have that strange sensation of not really being here. The sweat trickles down the back of my neck, under my arms and my shirt is sticking to my body.

The humidity zaps all of my strength, it's an odd sensation, one I've never felt before. I dimly wonder if this how it'll always be.

I'm already beginning to count down the days.

.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. Please leave a review and let me know what you liked about the chapter. I do love the feedback. This chapter was always going to be a hard one to write and my busy busy work schedule didn't help! I'm a high school teacher and there are just certain times of the year where I work 12 hours a day for weeks on end!

I can do shorter chapters and upload more frequently, or keep my chapters the length they are and update every couple of weeks; let me know what you all prefer.

Cheers!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Many thanks for the reviews to date!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 13**_

* * *

 **.**

 _Dear Darry and Soda,_

 _I've been in Vietnam for two months. It feels like a year. Time moves so slowly here, the days drag by and are much the same. Two-Bit and I are part of Company C and assigned to the 2_ _nd_ _Battalion, 506_ _th_ _Infantry Regiment. So far we haven't seen much action. Which is a good thing, but I'm told never to count your chickens before they hatch. I've just heard today that we're moving out to Camp Evans, which is between the cities of Hue and Quang Tri._

Rumor has it that the jungle is so dense there that it's difficult to move. The Ho Chi Minh trail is a re-supply highway for the NVA. It's known as a heavy combat zone. I'm not about to tell Darry or Soda any of this. But everyone in the platoon is worried as hell. I've been pretty much convinced I'm gonna die here from day one and it's only a matter of time before my luck runs out.

 _Two-Bit and I have two days R &R and it might be the last break we get for several months. We are hanging out for it! I can see the blueness of the ocean as the bus heads down the hill into the city of Da Nang, nicknamed China Beach. Hence my scrappy writing, but the roads are rough here and the bus bounces all over the place._ _China Beach is an R &R spot for soldiers. I'm looking forward to getting to see and hopefully swim in a beach for the first time in my life. _

_You can't even begin to imagine how different life is over here. It seems to me that the American's have no idea of what the war in Vietnam is about. No one has any understanding of the Vietnamese Culture. We just trash all over it with no respect. I find myself curious at times about their culture, so vastly different from ours. However, kids are the same no matter where you go, full of curiosity and life. Two-Bit and I found a pool at one place we patrolled through and went for a swim, there were a bunch of kids there. We gave them piggy back rides and tossed them in the water, they were laughing and squealing away. It was one of the best days here. I took some photos. There is one of me and Two-Bit so you can see we're still in one piece. They were most interested in Two-Bit's sideburns and wanting to touch them. The Vietnamese just have no body hair, so Two-Bit's sideburns were a novelty._

Two-Bit leans over my shoulder. "Sending the photos to Darry and Soda?"

I nod. "Yeah, just the happy ones." Because there are plenty of sad ones. I don't know why I feel compelled to take those photos, maybe because in this pointless war so many of the local people, the real innocent people, suffer the most.

"You really gonna want to remember that stuff, Pony?" Two-Bit asks, a puzzled frown denting his forehead.

I turn and glance out the window so he doesn't see my face and shrug. I don't know how to answer that question. And he has a point. Maybe they'll come a day I won't want to remember a single thing about this place. My days are always filled with so much uncertainty about what I might have to see and do. I dread patrol, but like I just wrote, so far I've seen no action. But I have seen plenty enough other infantry soldiers that have seen such horrible sights they have what is coined 'the hundred-yard stare.' It's like someone has sucked their soul out of them and only an empty shell is left. It makes me shudder. I hope that never happens to me.

Two-Bit and I no longer talk about the 'what ifs?' You don't go there, just in case bad luck might come your way. You just count down the days you have left and pray you'll make it home.

Of course I don't write any of this in the letter. I don't want to worry Darry and Soda any more than they already do.

"Man, I can't wait to have a beer," Two-Bit says.

It's been a while and even I'm longing for a beer. I never thought I'd see that day ever coming. So much for my idealistic views on never drinking, but then I'd never imagined myself ending up here.

"I'm gonna get blind drunk," he continues.

"You'll feel like shit the next day," I reply.

Two-Bit gives a gruff half laugh. "Just like any other day in this hole of a place."

It's true. "This place is a hole," I agree, but a breath taking beautiful one at that. Maybe I'll write about that in the letter.

 _The scenery is breath taking and beautiful but horrible to live in. I guess I'll get used to the humidity one day. By the time I do it'll be time to go home._

My jaw clenches at the thought of home. Home now seems like an alternative life, maybe it never really existed, and maybe this place has always been my reality.

I shudder.

"You alright, Pony?" Two-Bit asks.

He worries too much. He's always nagging me to take the malaria pills, because I forgot one day. It was just one day. But we look out for each other, most of the grunts do, like it's an unwritten law because the Army won't.

"Just thinking," I mutter and return my attention back to the letter.

 _It ain't just the people back home protesting the war. Majority of the soldiers, especially the grunts, hate this place and its 'fuck the Army' a lot of the times. Then there are the numerous soldiers going AWOL._

Not that I blame them. I've thought of it myself just about every day.

"You reckon it would be worth spending three years in prison as opposed to spending one year in this place?" I ask Two-Bit.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Three years in prison with a dishonourable discharge, or getting killed," he nods, "hell yeah."

I light a cigarette. "What are we doing here then?"

Maybe because the thought of going to prison for a crime I've never committed and for three years, just the thought of it … it's wrong.

"For kicks I guess," Two-Bit returns with a grin.

I manage a smile and shake my head. He starts fingering the mustache he's attempting to grow.

"It looks ridiculous," I tell him.

"Jealousy don't suit you, Pony. Just because you can't grow nothing but bum fluff on ya face," he retorts.

I snort. "Yeah, right."

* * *

Two-Bit was all for heading straight to the tavern, but I drag him down to the beach first, dispensing my boots and socks along the way. The soft sand is soothing beneath my bare feet. I've pretty much had problems with tinea since arriving here. As we all have. Hot, wet, humid tropics bring a whole lot of different skin rashes that just add to my misery in this place.

However, the sight of the beach makes me forget everything. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

We both stand there in awe, two ex-greasers who've never seen a beach before. Blue sky meets the dazzling brightness of the ocean and it's so vast. White waves are rolling in, and they make one hell of a noise. It's a noise I'm not familiar with and it makes me feel small. Like I'm just a dot in a world that doesn't stop moving. Yet, I also feel more alive than I ever have.

The water looks so inviting that I begin unbuttoning my shirt.

"I'm going in," I tell Two-Bit.

I toss my shirt on the sand and notice the uncertain expression on his face.

"Wearing what?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his eyes when I undo my trousers.

There are quite a few people on the beach, part of me reasons I should get some swimming trunks or something, but then I don't care.

"Army Y-fronts," I reply with a grin.

Two-Bit shakes his head. "Yeah, cause that's a real good look."

"I don't care."

He still looks unsure. "It's a bit rough out there."

I shrug. "You scared of a couple of waves?"

His jaw clenches. "I ain't scared of anything, Pony."

Which is a lie. All of us are shit scared of dying in this hell hole.

"So you say, ain't that mustache supposed to make you manlier?" I tease. "I told Darry and Soda about it. I can imagine they'll get a good laugh out of it."

"Ya just full of jest today," Two-Bit returns. "We'll soon see who'll be laughing when ya get dumped by one of those waves."

I shrug him off and begin walking into the water. I honestly don't know what I'm doing. I don't care. The water looks so inviting and I just want to feel it on my skin. It's not as cold as lake water. That's icy and fresh, whereas the water here is salty. I feel it cleansing my skin. For the first time in two months I actually feel clean.

I look up to see a wave coming in. Okay, I got this, I tell myself. I've seen what they do in the movies. I just gotta let it catch me and go with the flow, put my arms out in front.

I feel the wave take me, its strength surprises me and the next thing I know I'm pulled under it. I can't break free of its hold. A sudden panic hits as it pummels me along. It feels much like being drowned all over again, but before I know it, I find myself flung to the surface and I'm coughing and gasping for air.

Two-Bit is laughing on the beach. He's sitting on the sand, cross legged, trousers rolled up and shirtless.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, Ponyboy."

I glare at him before turning around to face the next wave. I'm determined to get this despite my fear and the uncomfortable sensation of feeling like I'm drowning. At least now I know what to expect.

After four more attempts, I drag myself out of the water and stagger over to Two-Bit.

"I don't get what I'm doing wrong." My breathing is kind of ragged by this stage.

"You're taking off too late," another voice speaks.

A young woman appears out of nowhere. Where did she come from? Had she been there all along? I'm suddenly aware that I'm standing there in my Y-fronts in front of a girl.

"You need to take off just before the wave hits," she continues a hint of amusement in her voice.

I can feel my face redden as I hastily put my hands in front of the Y-fronts, for what it's worth. A see a smile cross her face and it suddenly strikes me that I know her.

"Trust me, I've seen it all."

That doesn't reassure me. I'm sure my face is just getting redder. I hear Two-Bit snicker and know I'm never gonna live this down.

She removes her sunglasses, I see the amusement in her blue eyes. I'm numbly aware that it's Cherry Valance standing in front of me. Of course, naturally, why not, here I am standing in my jocks in front of her on a beach in Vietnam. Hell I know she's here as a nurse, but I would happen to run into her in this place, at this very moment.

"Hi, Ponyboy."

I manage to make my mouth work. "Cherry."

"Cherry Valance," Two-Bit exclaims and I welcome the interruption.

I need a moment to get my thoughts together and dive for my trousers. I hastily pull them on.

"You remember me, Two-Bit?" he continues.

"Yeah, of course."

I watch her sit down on the sand. She's wearing a sun hat, light blue one piece bathers with a sarong tied around her waist. She looks elegant, which is at odds with everything else around here.

"Pony told me you'd joined the VNC."

Cherry nods. "Unfortunately, in a moment of stupidity."

That makes me wonder if she's since lived to regret her decision.

Two-Bit laughs. "Yeah, don't we all have those?"

A puzzled frown dents her forehead. "You didn't get drafted?"

"No," I butt in. "This idiot decides to follow me."

Comprehension dawns of her pretty face followed by a thoughtful reflection. "You guys always did look out for each other."

It's true, and she still seems just as surprised by this as she had four years ago.

"Are you on R&R?" I ask, my curiosity aroused.

"No, I work at the evacuation hospital here. It's quiet at the moment and they gave me the afternoon off."

Of course she would be here, I silently mutter. Out of all the hospitals she could have been sent to, she happens to work at this one right here in China Beach itself. Fate sure had a weird sense of humor. Am I never to have a dignified moment? I'm still feeling embarrassed that she'd seen me in my Y-fronts. Though I shouldn't be, she did say she'd seen it all before and being a nurse she probably had and a whole lot more.

"What about you two?" she continues.

"Two-Bit and I are on R&R."

"Which company are you with?"

"C, 2nd division, where headed out to Camp Evans tomorrow."

The smile leaves her face, only to be replaced with worry which doesn't reassure me.

"That bad, huh?" Two-Bit speaks alongside me.

She pulls herself up with a start and shakes her head. She really is a terrible liar.

"Don't sweat it, we already know it ain't too good out that way."

"It's been quiet of late though," she says.

That doesn't make me feel any better. I always get the feeling whenever anything is too quiet, it means something big and bad is on its way.

"Screw the war, let's talk about home," Two-Bit mutters. "It's nice to see another face from home even if it's a Soc girl." But Two-Bit is just teasing and Cherry gets it.

"That's a long while ago."

We start talking about back home, the last couple of years. For a moment this place and the war is forgotten. Two-Bit has a natural affinity with people that I sometimes wish I had. His easy going nature and humorous anecdotes puts most people at ease, even Cherry. She laughs at his jokes but I don't miss the shadows in her eyes. Somethings shifted since the last time I saw her and I know that look, I've seen it before with other grunts; she's seen unimaginable horrors that a person shouldn't have to see. I don't doubt she's seen the worst of it being a nurse over here in Vietnam. It makes me feel kinda sick thinking about it.

"I take it you've never been on a beach before, Ponyboy?" she asks.

I shake my head. "That obvious huh?"

"I couldn't help watching you. You had such a look of awe on your face."

Oh great, so just how long was she watching me jumping in those waves with nothing more than …

"Along with the Y-fronts," Two-Bit adds.

He's grinning at me and I really want to smack him in the face. He's gonna tease me mercilessly about this. Cherry smiles. "Least he had some clothes on. You'll be surprised how many soldiers don't. They strut about the place as if they're god's gift to women and nothing is more of a turn off. It makes a nice change to see some modesty."

Two-Bit shoots me a wry grin, and puts an arm around my shoulders. "Yep, that's Ponyboy alright, modest as they come."

I refrain from punching him in the ribs.

"You still up for catching a wave, Ponyboy?" she asks, getting to her feet.

"I … um, I guess."

She smiles. "Great, I'll teach you how."

My mouth drops open. What?

"Don't be so modest, Pony, not like it stopped you before," Two-Bit says. "As I recall you told me you didn't care what anyone thought before Cherry rocked up."

I clench my jaw and glare at him.

Fine then. I stand up and look at Cherry. "I'd like that."

She smiles, amusement dancing in her blue eyes and pulls her hat off. Her red hair is in stark contrast to the whiteness of the sand. She fluffs it up with her hands and I'm surprised by how short it is. She must notice my expression, a rueful look crosses her face. "It's just easier in this place."

I can imagine. It makes sense. It's just a bit different is all. Not giving me a chance to reply, she turns around and runs down to the water.

I watch after her and have to pinch myself. Am I dreaming now? I could be. I'm sure I've had this dream before, only not here.

"Man, she's hot for a red head," Two-Bit whistles alongside me. "She has one hell of a figure."

Cherry is almost up to her waist in the water. She turns and beckons me to come.

Two-Bit pats me on the back.

"Go knock yourself out kid," he says. "Ya luck might just change and you'll lose your virginity."

I turn and glare at him. "It's not like that, besides she still probably sees me as a naive 14 year old."

He raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, I wouldn't bet on that."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw enough appreciation in her eyes when she was checking you out."

I look at him as if he's nuts. "Checking me out?" Like when?

"Go on hurry up, she's waiting for you."

Two-Bit nudges me in the back. I drop my trousers and walk into the water, hoping not to get a hard on, but the cold water pretty much puts a stop to that. Thank god, because I've had enough embarrassment for one day.

Two-Bit waves at us. "I'll leave you two kiddies to frolic in the water. I'm going to the tavern."

That's his way of leaving me alone with Cherry, subtle not. I turn around to find Cherry smiling.

"He hasn't changed."

I smile in return. "No, he hasn't."

* * *

The next hour is unbelievable. She teaches me how to catch waves, how to dive under them and we laugh a lot. That is the thing that surprises me the most, how much we laugh, because even back before there was no laughter. There was only greasers and socs, fighting all the time. Back then there was death, Johnny killing Bob, Cherry's boyfriend. Johnny dying followed by Dally … so much death. We had nothing to laugh about let alone smile.

There is death all around us here too, of a different much more deadly kind, but it's not personal and it's far from home. Here, we are just two regular people who get along, who get to laugh. And maybe because I know tomorrow might be my last day I live in the moment.

* * *

"You haven't changed much, Ponyboy," she says as she inhales on a cigarette.

We are now sitting on the sand, drying out. The sun was low in the sky. It feels good to be alive.

"Only you're taller."

"And too skinny," I add.

"But handsome."

She thinks I'm handsome? I feel my cheeks redden under her scrutiny. Then she smiles. "You don't see it?"

"I don't know. Soda's the good looking one," I shrug.

Soda knows how to charm girls too. As for me – I'm generally awkward except with her. I don't know why that is? I guess we made a connection of sort, that night at the drive-ins, which seems another lifetime ago now.

"You were kinda mature for your age and different in a good way."

She draws back on her cigarette. I watch her feeling mixed emotions. It's odd seeing her smoke. She was such a good girl back then, didn't smoke, didn't like alcohol, was popular, a cheer leader and so girly. In stark contrast, her hair is cut pretty short. Her bathing suit is also modest, and she doesn't have a scrap of make up on.

"I was such a bitch. Snubbing you at school. As if any of that matters now. I sometimes wish I could revisit my younger self and smack her out."

I feel touched by her words.

"I didn't take it personally," I tell her, and it's the truth. "You told me not to, remember."

Obviously she does given the sudden bitterness in her eyes, but then it's gone as quickly as it came and I'm left wondering if I'd imagined it?

"So have I changed?" she asks.

I pull a cigarette out of the packet as a distraction. I'm not sure how to word what I have to say because she has.

"In some things," I begin, safer there and I hope she lets it drop.

"Like what?"

So much for that. I glance at her hair. "Your hair is a lot shorter." Easy to start with something physical, because physically she's still as pretty as ever. However, something happened to her emotionally. I see it more clearly now because I know what that pain of loss is like. It's not something you ever really get over.

"The first week here was so awful and the humidity and the long hours," she murmured. "By the end of it I just went to the nearest hair salon and got it hacked off."

She shrugs as if it's nothing. "It was strangely cathartic."

I'm puzzled. Maybe it's just a girl thing? She gives a small smile and shakes her head.

"So what else has changed?"

My eyes meet with her curious gaze. There is a resigned sadness about her. It makes my heart ache in a strange way.

"I think someone hurt you and badly," I murmur, swallowing.

She goes very still, her face pales. There is a moment of silence and I inwardly berate myself.

"I've forgotten how astute you were," she murmurs at length.

"I'm sorry … I shouldn't have," I stammer hurriedly. "It's none of my business."

"It's okay, Ponyboy. I did ask. And you're right." Her voice is like a whisper. "They shattered all of my illusions and broke every bit of my heart."

A cold chill creeps through me despite the heat. Her words disturb me.

She lets out a bitter laugh and runs a hand through her hair. "Which is probably just as well because it's best not to have a heart in this place."

Taking a deep breath, she glances at me, almost ashamed. "Wow, listen to me. That idealistic naïve 17 year old girl is long gone."

I find myself wanting to protest her words. No … not entirely. I saw her when we were swimming in the waves. I heard it in her laughter.

"I don't think you were that naïve," I manage to say. "You kinda saw things for what they were."

A don't miss the strained, haunted look on her face. "You think?"

I nod, wanting to reassure her. "Your still you."

A small smile touches her lips. It's a start. "You're pretty amazing you know."

I don't know what to say and lower my eyes. A couple of huey's fly overhead and her expression changes.

"That doesn't look good. I should check back at the hospital and make sure they don't need me," she begins, scrambling to her feet.

I do the same, brushing the sand off my damp trousers. I look up to find her watching me, the bitterness momentarily replaced with softness.

"Thank you, Ponyboy," she murmurs. "You manage to restore some faith in me that not all men are complete arseholes."

Then she leans into me and softly brushes her lips against mine. The touch is unexpected and warm. My heart hammers in my chest. I stand there like a dumb fool. I can't think for the blood rushing to my head.

A sweet smile crosses her face.

"If they don't need me at the hospital do you want to grab some drinks and watch the sunset?" she asks.

I manage to nod. "Yeah, I'll be in the tavern."

With a parting smile, she grabs her hat and jogs across the sand. I stand there watching her, as a host of emotions assail me. All of my few short encounters with her always leave me feeling confused. Her words haunt me along with the pain and sadness in her eyes. Maybe that is why we get each other, we've both lost so much in a way.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my shirt, boots and socks and make my way back to the barracks.

* * *

I have a shower and find Two-Bit in the tavern. He's half pissed already. Soon as he sees me he starts up.

"Hey, Pony. Tell me you finally got laid?"

Every eye in that tavern must have looked directly at me. I grit my teeth and order a beer.

I never did see Cherry later at the tavern. I guess she was called into work and was unable to get away. I watch the sunset on my own, reflecting over the day. It was interesting and kind of special but strange too. That seems to be the story of my life.

I'd manage to swipe half a bottle of bourbon from Two-Bit. He was too drunk to notice.

I'm sitting on the sand, taking a swig every now and again. I can feel the pleasant numbness seep through my bones. It's an odd sensation. One I kind of like. Maybe this is why Two-Bit drinks so much.

I light up a cigarette as dusk approaches and the first star appears in the sky. I think of Soda and Darry at home and wonder what they are doing. I think of Cherry at work and the haunted pain in her eyes. I think about her heart breaking into pieces, and I wonder if they'll ever fit back into place again. I think we are all broken in our own way. I don't know if we can ever really be fixed.

I can imagine Johnny shaking his head as I read _Gone with the Wind_ to him. I remember him saying how Dally was gallant. But Dally was more broken than anyone else I knew.

There is nothing heroic or gallant about living. I'm only here because I have no choice. I'm not gallant. I don't think anyone is. It's just a fool's notion.

* * *

I don't know how much time I spend out there, lying back on the sand and staring up at the stars. I feel sort of at peace and relaxed. It's probably because of the alcohol.

Two-Bit finds me. I don't know how. He's pretty drunk but unlike me he can hold his liquor. He manages to get me to my feet and helps me back to the barracks.

"So you and Cherry?" he asks. "Take it nothing happened."

"She kissed me but then she got called into work."

The words sound slurred even in my own ears. "We had fun."

I'm drunk. I have to be. I'm also stupid. This isn't like me. Since when do I get drunk?

Two-Bit helps me to bed.

"Maybe that's for the best, Ponyboy."

And I don't get what he means, and I'm too pissed to think much more about. Sleep claims me straight away and I welcome it.

* * *

I feel sick most of the morning, regretting last night's drinking binge. My head aches and my mouth feels like sand paper.

"I'm never drinking again," I tell Two-Bit as a follow him to the mess hall.

He smiles in a knowing way. "You keep telling yourself that, Pony."

I know I've already said this before, on the camping trip. God, I'd give anything to be back there.

I envy how Two-Bit can just get up out of bed perfectly fine.

"How come it doesn't affect you? I must have a really weak constitution."

"Nah, just lack of experience, Pony," he returns. "I'm a seasoned hand at it."

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not, but Two-Bit is harmless when drunk, and he ain't really hurting anyone.

* * *

I drink a gallon of water, force myself to eat some breakfast knowing I'll be living on ration packs for the next month or so.

Our bus is due to depart at four in the afternoon. The briefness of our R&R is over. One thing I've discovered over here is just how long the days are and how little time we have to ourselves. I know I have another ten months of this. I ain't going home anytime soon.

Two-Bit and I browse through town, stocking up on cigarettes and gum. I post my letter to Darry and Soda.

After lunch we head for the tavern. Two-Bit orders a beer and my stomach rolls. No way am I drinking. I go for a walk along the beach. The waves are even rougher than yesterday and hardly anyone is swimming. I think of Cherry far too much. I wonder if I'll run into her on the beach, but I don't. She must be working. I would like to see her before I leave, in case I don't see her again, but I don't know where or how.

As it turns out she finds me. I'm mingling near the bus stop with Two-Bit and some other guys from our company. The bus is due to pick us up.

I don't realise it's her at first. She's wearing khaki pants with a white shirt. Some of the guys whistle and she glares at them. They quickly shut up.

I walk up to her, surprised she's here.

She smiles. "I was hoping to see you before you go."

"Same here, but I didn't know where to find you."

The rest of the guys are staring at us, Two-Bit raises an eyebrow.

"Let's go somewhere a bit more private," I suggest, knowing the rest of the guys are going to rag me once she's gone. The last thing I want is them eaves dropping in on our conversation.

I lead her to a safe distance, behind a palm tree. It's about as private as we're gonna get.

"Sorry about yesterday, I had to work," she begins in a tired voice.

I see the dark rings under her eyes. She looks exhausted.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"It was a rough night." She takes a deep breath. "Triple amputee. He lost both legs and an arm."

I don't know what to say. I don't even know how she can work here? How does she stand it? I know when I'm out of patrol we fear stuff like happening to us, but she sees it all the time. She looks vulnerable and sad. I have a sudden longing to hold her. I'm not sure how, or if I should and while I'm having this internal debate, she leans in towards me. I put an arm around her. She rests her cheek against my chest. I just hold her because I sense this is what she needs and wants. I stroke her hair, much like Soda would do when I was upset. It's the only way I know how to comfort someone. It seems to work. We stay in this position for a few minutes without moving or speaking. Until she eventually pulls back and her gaze meets with mine. A slow smile tilts up the corners of her mouth. Raising a hand she touches my face.

"Thanks, Ponyboy," she murmurs.

Then withdrawing her hand, she holds out a paper bag.

"I brought this for you."

Surprised and touched, I take it from her. Reaching into the bag, I pull out bathing shorts. My eyes meet with hers and I smile. As if I'll ever forget that moment.

"For next time," she tells me. "There has to be a next time."

Her voice catches in her throat. She grips both of my hands, a sudden desperation in her eyes. "Come back in one piece, Ponyboy."

I nod, it's about all I can manage. "I'll try."

Next thing I know her hands rest on my chest and her lips meet with mine. Her lips are soft and pliant. I deepen the kiss. I'm filled with a sudden desperation and longing. Will I ever know this? Or is this all I am ever going to have? If so, I'll take it and remember it. She must sense my longing because her tongue slips intimately into my mouth. The kiss is both tender and warm. She tastes of peppermint. I don't even really know why we are doing this? Maybe it's a comfort thing? Maybe she's giving me something to remember before I die? Whatever it is, it feels so good that I never want to let go.

"Hey, Pony!" I hear Two-Bit yell. "The bus is here."

We both abruptly pull back. Eyes widening in surprise at what just happened.

"I-I'm … that was," I stammer, raking a hand through my hair.

My cheeks are flushed, so are hers. Did it mean as much to her as it does for me?

Then the sweetest smile crosses her face. "Amazing," she finishes for me.

I manage a smile in return, despite the myriad of emotions I'm feeling.

"Thanks," I say.

I gaze longingly at her, committing her image to memory.

"Ponyboy," I hear Two-Bit call out again.

I tear my gaze from hers. "Take care," I murmur.

* * *

The guys are pretty rowdy on the bus. Two-Bit is telling a lot of new jokes he's found since being here. It's comforting to hear, but I prefer to sit back from it all, gazing out the window. I watch the little people walk along, always carrying something on their backs. They plod along, unseeing.

The buildings thin out as the bus meanders out of the city of Da Nang and into the farm lands. I bet this place would have been real peaceful once before the war, before we came along and blew up their villages. Some of what I see I'd rather I didn't. I had no idea on what poverty was, despite being what I thought was poor. I still had a roof over my head, a comfortable bed to sleep in and an education.

* * *

I watch the sun set as the bus slowly makes it way up and over hills. There is silence in the bus now. Two-Bit has fallen asleep, his head falling onto my shoulder. He's snoring. I guess all that drinking has finally caught up with him. Not a day goes by when I don't appreciate having him here with me. Now all I have to do is make sure he stays alive, because I could never live with the thought of something ever happening to him. But right now, on this bus, I feel strangely peaceful.

It'll be the last peaceful moment I have.

Little do I know that this weekend will also be the last of my innocence too. I knew it was only a matter of time. You don't get out of hell when you're living in it. It was my misfortune to find myself caught up in one of the last major bloody combats known as the Siege of Firebase Ripcord.

The events of what happen on that hill will haunt me forever.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it? Please leave a review. I always love to read them. Not quite a cliffie but almost as good as one. The next chapter will be full on. Think of this chapter as the calm before the storm!

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	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait on this! I've been so busy at work and then I got the flu, but I now have a two week break and found some time to get this chapter written. This chapter was a toughie to write. It always was going to be which is why I needed a chunk of time to write it.

Thanks so much for all the reviews to date! I also changed Sherri back to Cherry in subsequent chapters and this one, though she's barely mentioned in this chapter.

This chapter is grim in places, just thought I better warn you all before you read it. There is nothing pretty about war. The events that unfold are based on a true life Vietnam battle which I try to do justice. I do a lot of research to give a sense of realism. I've also read personal recounts of soldiers experiences to get as much of an insight of what it was like. Some of those recounts I couldn't even bring myself to read they were that bad. They are from a book titled 'Ashes of Vietnam. Australian Voices' by Stuart Rintoul. It's basically a collection of anecdotes from Australian soldiers in the Vietnam war, one or two I've briefly used in here. But much of what I've written is factually based with fictional characters and their own original experiences.

That said. Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 14.**_

* * *

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There's a lot I won't say about this place. That then requires me to have to think about it and its best I just don't. The jungle is so dense. I hate the feeling of being shut in all the time. I'm always looking over my shoulder, ears honed in to sounds of anything different, even a small crack of a twig can alert you to enemy approaching or nearby. The Viet Cong move stealth like and can just suddenly appear out of nowhere.

We're stationed up near the DMZ at Camp Evans, located between the cities of Hue and Quang Tri in the I Corp sector of South Vietnam. We work in the steep mountainous area, covered with dense jungle canopy, patrolling the lowlands into the A Shau Valley where the Ho Chi Minh trail is a re-supply highway for the NVA. This mountain area is designated as a "free-kill zone" with no civilians to deal with as all 'friendly's' have been removed from this area. We don't need permission to engage our enemy. It is just 'us' and the 'NVA' to slug it out. Most of our many fire-fights are quick and intense encounters. When the fighting stops and the smoke clears, the enemy fade back away into the jungle as we do. Many of us prefer it this way. I can walk along narrow tracks shooting at an unseen enemy. I can fire off a few rounds without knowing if I'm hitting anything or not. I like it that way, not knowing and not seeing. That way there is no guilt.

Patrolling comes with many risks. The NVA lace the tracks with all types of mines and booby traps which are sometimes impossible to see until you step on one. Two-Bit is telling jokes on this particular day as he often does to boost moral by making us laugh. I'm not even expecting the Bouncing Betty mine that suddenly bursts out on the ground in front of me. I don't even realize that I trip it. All I can think is, _'that's it. I'm finished.'_ I don't have much more time than that. I'm just frozen there waiting for it to explode. I know I can't duck it or jump it. I see the sudden anguish in Two-Bit's eyes. Time stands still and nothing happens. It doesn't go off. I'm about to collapse to the ground when Two-Bit catches me, dragging me away.

My legs do eventually give out on me and I slump to the ground. I start to cry. I can't even begin to explain it. Just that I could have died, and every day I know I can, but today is the first time I've been confronted with that reality. Of course once I start crying I can't stop. I guess everything just suddenly got to me. I don't want to be here. I don't want to kill. I don't want to die. I just want to go home to my brothers.

I can hear people whispering around me. I can feel Two-Bit's worried gaze watching me. After some time he approaches me.

"Pony," he begins. "You gotta keep moving."

I manage to nod my head and wipe the snot away from my nose. I'm terrified just about every day. I feel disgusting. I haven't been able to shave, wash or change my clothes or socks or anything for over a week. And I'm gonna die like this, in this hell hole of a place, stinking and in a place none of us should be in.

We ain't got no right to be here. But I ain't got no say in it. Maybe that thought alone is enough to sober me up a bit.

I manage to get to my feet and keep walking because I know that if I don't, I guess I might never move again, never take that next step.

There's not a lot to say but I can feel Two-Bit watching me. I know he's worrying, but it's not as if he can do a lot about it. Fate, if you can call it that and we do, just strikes randomly.

"You're the luckiest son of a bitch," he mutters, dropping an arm across my shoulders. "Fuck, Pony. Fucking hell. Don't you dare scare the shit out of me like that again - you hear?!"

We all swear a lot more out here. Not like it matters, no one here is gonna give a rats arse. We're all in the same boat.

* * *

At night I lie in my hooch, hearing the bombs drop, hoping to god they don't fall on me. Now and again I hear Two-Bit swear under his breath when one gets too close. Things like this I can never write in letters to Darry and Soda, the horrible reality of this place. No one has any idea on what it's like back home, because none of us can bear to tell our family or friends.

I'm still rattled from my near death experience earlier today. I've barely spoken since. Everyone's been looking at me oddly, as if waiting for me to lose it. We've seen enough guys in the last couple of weeks lose the plot. One guy broke down five minutes after an ambush. He was alright while it was on, but afterwards he was just a screaming mess on the ground. He sat down and went into hysterics. Some guys do it in the middle of the night, just suddenly start screaming.

"Don't clam up on me, Ponyboy," I hear Two-Bit say in the darkness alongside me.

He's probably wondering when and if I'll start screaming.

We share the same hooch, we pretty much share everything for that matter; food, shaving cream, when we have it, and newspaper for wiping our arse. I'm pretty sure there'll be nothing left on the face of this earth to make me blush after I'm done with this place. There is no dignity and there's certainly no dignity about dying for a useless cause. In fact we don't call it a cause, we call being here a sick politicians joke and have only one thing on our minds; surviving it. No one uses deodorant or scented soap either, the Viet Cong can smell us a mile away. We can smell them too.

"You reckon it's the food the gooks eat that make them smell so different to us?" I say out loud.

Two-Bit mutters something about me being an odd sort under his breath before propping up on one elbow to look at me.

"Yeah, I reckon it's the rats they eat," he jokes.

"Scorpions too," I add.

We list all of the disgusting things they could eat, and as stupid as it sounds, it's kind of small comfort we take, because sometimes it's easier talking about stupid stuff than maybe tomorrow being your last day alive.

It's like that here. There's excitement, there's boredom, sometimes there's fun, though not lately, sometimes there's laughter and there's a lot of people getting killed.

A bomb drops not too far away and the ground trembles. Two-Bit and I grow silent in the dark. I hold my breath and screw my eyes shut. The next bomb that drops is farther away and I let out a breath.

"It's getting worse, isn't I?" I say, my voice sounding hoarse in my own ears.

Two-Bit sighs. "Yeah."

I sit up and fumble for the cigarette packet in my pocket. I'm not gonna be able to sleep. I light up a smoke and hand one to Two-Bit. Our eyes meet and I see my own fear reflected in his gaze.

"You got the time?" I ask.

He looks down at his imaginary watch and taps it, grinning. "I reckon its gone way past midnight."

I snort, but he's probably right. Two-Bit can just tell time without ever looking at a watch.

"Which makes it's the first of July," he continues.

Leaning over, he pinches and then punches my arm. "For the first day of the month."

I manage a smile and shake my head. He still acts like a big kid at times, even in this hellhole.

"Only another nine months to go," I mutter.

Two-Bit lets out a deflated breath. "Fuck."

And that word sums it all up.

* * *

The shelling continues most of the next day. There are no longer brief skirmishes in the jungle, now we find ourselves in the middle of a battle. A battle that is bringing the enemy alarming close.

I don't know who first alerted us that enemy sappers managed to get inside the NDP, with NVA infantrymen attacking from the outside. This is how the enemy sappers work. They penetrate the defensive perimeter in advance of a ground attack by a NVA or Viet Cong unit. The sappers initiate battle from within the defensive perimeter at the same time another unit attacks the perimeter from without, causing us to fight in two directions at the same time, creating utter chaos.

It's five in the morning, but I'm only half asleep when the firing starts along with the Sergeant yelling instructions. We all sleep ready for battle. It's just a matter of grabbing my rifle, shoving my helmet on my head, boots on my feet and get moving.

The morning light is just beginning to creep along the horizon. I feel completely disorientated. There's screaming, there's hollering and there's bellowing. It's like nothing I've ever experienced. It's just noise, like I can't believe that there can be so much noise, with rockets and the mortars and the machine-guns and the guys screaming and bellowing.

Two-Bit pulls me down into a rifle ditch we'd just dug out yesterday.

"Holy fuck," I hear him swear. "We're gonna fucking die."

We just lay there trying to breath, terrified. I'm never gonna see the sun again. The sun is never going to come up. I can't remember the last time I watched a sunrise or sunset. I hadn't thought about stuff like that in a while. Or even that brief sweet moment with Cherry Valance. I wonder if I'll see her again. I sometimes recall the kiss we shared, how her soft lips felt beneath mine but even that seems another world away.

The company commander, Captain Hewitt, lands in the ditch next to us. He has a radio and is desperately radioing to central command.

"Sappers in the compound, we're under heavy fire from NVA outside. Need urgent back up, now!" he yells.

More men end up in the ditch, Larry and much to my relief Stephen, the only other 18 year old out here. He used to go to the same school as me, but we never hung out back then. On different sides but none of that matters here. The pallor of his skin makes his freckles stand out. He has a look of shell shock horror on his face.

"Private Jenkins, where is Private Brown?" the commander asks.

We're always paired off with someone else in the platoon.

"You mean what's left of him, Sir," he manages to stutter, "Taken out by an RPG."

We're all shocked for a minute. Jack Brown is liked by everyone. He's only a year older than me. He carried a picture of his girlfriend in his pocket, much like I carry the picture of Soda and me when we were kids. For a moment I can't move or think. Everyday it's someone dying.

Two-Bit swears, the commander shakes his head. "We can't stay here like this, we're just sitting ducks."

"And if we move," Larry states, "We'll be either shot down or blown to pieces like Private Brown."

I watch the commander scan the compound with his eyes, looking all worried as hell. A glimmer of yellow sunlight touches the horizon. I can see the desperation in his eyes. It doesn't reassure me. He's right. And now that it's starting to get light, we are sitting ducks just waiting to be picked off.

"We need someone to draw their fire," he begins. "That'll give us their location. Give us half a chance to take them out."

I swallow hard, once, then twice. I'm about to do the most stupid thing in the entirety of my life.

"I'll do it," I pipe up. "I'm the fastest …"

"No way, Pony!" Two-Bit fiercely butts in, eyes widening. "That's suicide! I ain't letting you do it!"

I turn to him in desperation. "If we stay like this we're all gonna die, and I'm tired of being scared all of the time just waiting for it to happen."

I know I'm ranting but that's because I'm terrified. I'm not lying when I tell Two-Bit that I want it to be over. Better to make a run for it, hopefully if I get shot it'll be a quick death, like through my heart or something. Or, at worst, I could end up like Jack – in pieces. But that doesn't bear thinking about.

"Alright, Private Curtis. Good luck son. God be with you," the commander encourages. "Head for the trees at nine o'clock. No gun fire there. You should stand a chance if you reach it."

My mouth goes dry. If I should reach it? Shit. Holy shit. I must be insane.

"Yes Sir."

I can't even bring myself to look at Two-Bit. I know if I survive this, he's gonna kill me. He grabs me by the shoulders.

"You better survive, Pony. So help me God I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck after this." I hear the pained desperation in his voice.

I just nod. It's all I can manage. What else is there to say? Words are no longer of any use.

* * *

As soon as I'm out of the ditch, I just start running. As fast as I can. My legs plowing through the long grass as I make a bee-line for the trees. Bullets whiz by and I'm waiting for it, waiting to be hit, feel pain or feel nothing anymore. The air escapes my lungs in short frantic breathes as I push myself. The adrenaline pumping through my veins fuels me on. The trees draw closer and I really don't know if I'll be any safer in there, but I'll have protection from the bullets.

I hear a volley of shots fire from where I left Two-Bit and the others in the ditch, my heart just about stops at the sounds of yelling and screaming. I think of Two-Bit and I can only hope we get out of this alive. The trees draw closer. I'm almost there. A bullet whizzes by my ear, just missing me by an inch. I lunge myself into the trees. I no sooner lean against a big banyan tree, drawing in deep ragged breaths of air when I hear a branch break.

I turn and find myself face to face with the enemy. I freeze.

He looks just as startled as me. The words, _Kill or be killed_ , echo in my head. Its second nature now. I act on autopilot. Drawing the bayonet from the sheath around my belt, I run it straight through him before he even has the chance to respond. I feel his blood stain my hands. He's eyes widen in surprise and I'm struck by how young he is. Just a boy is all, probably no more than 14. He mutters some words in a guttural voice before slumping to the ground. I catch him in my arms and all I can think is, _'I've killed a boy, just a boy, caught up in a war probably neither of us wanted._ '

Then the horror of my actions hit me. What have I done?! I grab him by the lapels of his battered coat.

Trembling, I lower his body to the ground. "I'm sorry … I'm so sorry … sorry … I didn't want to … didn't … sorry," I keep murmuring over and over again, my eyes filling up with tears. I hate this fucking war.

And I get it now. How Johnny felt all those years ago when he'd stabbed Bob. Taking a life is something that is indescribable in its raw intensity. I just took a life, watching it slip away before my very eyes knowing I'd caused this to happen.

"Better him than you," I hear a voice. It sounds callous and hard.

Larry stands there, he's been out here the longest, seen stuff of nightmares. He doesn't feel anymore, so he tells us. And I believe it. You just have to look at the hard lines of his face to know it's true. It reminds me of Dallas.

"Dry your tears, Curtis. It ain't worth it on him."

I drag myself to my feet, wipe my eyes. I swallow and avert my eyes from the sight of the dead boy's body lying limp on the ground.

"You'll get used to it, kid," he continues in a kinder but still gruff voice.

"I guess," I say not believing it. I don't ever want to get use to something like that.

I fight back the bile that rises in my throat.

Larry grabs me by the arm. His eyes take on a certain kind of wildness.

"You did it, Curtis. You saved what's left of us."

I did and what does he mean by what's left of us?

"Two-Bit ..." I begin feeling sudden dread.

Larry rests a hand on my shoulder.

"He's alright but you might not be after he's through with you."

* * *

Reinforcements came and we got a reprieve but not without our losses. Seven men were killed in action including our company commander, Captain Hewitt. Which shocked me as he'd just wished me good luck, ' _may god be with you.'_

And why me? Why do I get to survive?

Seven soldiers are dead and another six badly wounded in action. I ran for my life as a decoy and I get to live. Thoughts like that just mess with my head.

But there is no time to grieve as the battle continues, day after day. The eyes of the Viet Cong boy I killed haunt me in my sleep. I have blood on my hands. I'll never feel clean again.

* * *

July will be the month from hell. The shelling continues and so does the loss of life. We try to defend the hill for what it's worth but Charlie just keeps coming.

It's all sort of so surreal. I'm in a world that has to be make believe. I remember playing cowboys and Indians as a kid, how we were gonna blow all the Indian's up. Of course the cowboys always won but not out here. Out here nobody wins. Out here, killing is just killing and it's random; senseless. I guess it's always has been, I just never knew how much. Those old war movies I sometimes used to watch were full of lies. They don't even begin to capture the horror of what war is all about.

I can't think of a single thing to write in my letters to Soda and Darry. That world seems another lifetime ago. I don't think I'll ever get back to it. I know in my dreams, I keep running over one hill after another trying to find it; home. Only I never get there. I wake up feeling the hopelessness wash over me.

Now I just hold lifeless bodies, whether they're the enemy I've killed, or buddies who've been killed. I can't even begin to explain that, what that does to a person. I no longer know myself. I keep trying to hold onto something that no longer exists; maybe it's my innocence. Yeah, it's that - I'm losing that.

Johnny would have understood. If I could see him again, I would tell him how much I now know how he felt. I don't blame him for dying. Everyone has to die sometime. I think Johnny knew that too. I think he knew maybe it'd be hard to live with the thought of taking a life, even if it's to save another. I knew Johnny, I knew how much it burdened him. I think he was glad to die in the end, even though he was so scared at the start. After a while he knew perhaps it was for the best. I sometimes think that if I die here then it'd be for the best too. I just want it to be quick, either way I sure ain't gonna get home anytime soon and if I do, it'll never be the same. I'm a killer. I've become what I was trained to be. It's what I have to do to survive.

Even Two-Bit's humor can't change cold hard facts. I know he tries, tries to joke and make light in a world that no longer has any.

I don't try to stop him. I don't try to tell him there is nothing good about this place or what is left of us. But I already know deep down he knows that too. I see the pain in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking. I know he suffers just as much, if not more than the rest of us.

I know he says he wants to kill me for playing hero, but the relief I saw in his eyes when he saw me still alive will stay with me for ever. He didn't wring my neck, he just wrapped his arms around me and practically sobbed. Of course in the midst of those sobs was a lot of swearing. _"Jesus, Pony. You're the closest I've ever been to anyone. God help me if anything happens to you. You're all that's good in this world, or what's left in it. I lose you … I lose all of my faith in anything."_

It's a heavy burden to bear. Two-Bit's anguished words. I have to live with that, live with the thought of how much faith he has in me.

* * *

The days pass by as the battle continues, and I think for how much longer? Will they keep us out here till we're all dead? Till there is nobody left to fight?

On the 22nd the order came through for our evacuation. Relief is the only emotion I feel, it's palpable and it's real. Finally we're gonna get out of here. Now it's just a matter of getting off this mountain in one piece. The constant mortar rounds have already taken a heavy toll.

That night we don't talk much. Just in case. Hope is a risky thing out here. I swear I went through a whole pack of smokes. Two-Bit has even started nagging me about smoking so much.

And really … like who gives a shit, right? What does it matter?

* * *

At first light the Sergeants are moving us out of the bunkers. I manage to get a few hours, somehow, sheer exhaustion means I can fall asleep anywhere after a while.

We no sooner start making our way down the mountain towards the lower landing pad at Hill 805 when two of the eight Chinooks are hit by fire and go crashing to the ground. My heart sinks along with what little hope I had.

I hear Two-Bit swear and curse next to me. We exchange a worried glance. This is so not good.

We're ordered back to the bunkers to await further instruction.

Two-Bit and I perch ourselves on a rock, smoke cigarettes and sit in silence as we watch the action below us unfold.

From our position we can see the burning Chinook taking up a large part of the landing pad, meaning the other Chinooks can't land to get us all out.

We watch the huey's fly in to extract the soldiers among heavy mortar and gunfire. For now our hill isn't being shelled as the NVA focus solely on the lower landing pad trying to take out as many huey's and our own men as possible.

"Bastard's," I hear Two-Bit mutter. His voice is filled with anger and hate.

"We ain't gonna get out of here are we?" I murmur, drawing back on a cigarette. "Huey's can only carry six soldiers at a time and there is a couple of hundred of us scattered in various locations on the mountain." But I also know they'll keep trying to get us out no matter how bad it gets. No one gets left behind.

"We're getting out of here, Pony," Two-Bit returns in a grim, determined voice. "To hell with that. I ain't dying on this rock."

* * *

An hour later we're instructed to head up the hill to a landing pad that's not under such heavy mortar attack. The huey's will come in and get us all out.

We're constantly driven from our secure positions by exploding 155mm ammunition as we make our way up the hill, what is left of us run to the fire-base near the landing pad and attempt to secure a perimeter. I can see the NVA swarming up the mountainside towards us like ants, breaching the lower perimeter wires less than 100 yards away.

I'm firing my M-60 from the hip as we move from one position of another. I can see the huey from above, attempting to land under heavy gunfire, and I start praying. It don't matter shit all if I believe in God anymore or not. And I probably don't, but I'm desperate to get off this mountain - alive.

The last few weeks have been like living in hell. We're all desperate young men just wanting out of here.

"The chopper is down!" I hear Larry yell. "Let's run for it!"

My heart is pounding in my chest in my desperate haste to reach that chopper. I can smell gun smoke and napalm. That stuff burns the nostrils. Who the hell knows what we've been exposed to on this mountain?

I feel the bullet hit, tearing into my cheek and my foot catches on a tree root. I go crashing to the ground, my head smashing onto a rock. Stars explode before me as pain like a thousand knives stab into my head.

I lie there stupefied, not knowing if I'm alive or not. Everything is just white. I don't know if I'm even breathing. I don't feel anything. It's kind of strangely peaceful.

Johnny appears before me. For a moment I'm wildly happy to see him. "Johnny."

Something isn't right though.

"I'm sorry, Pony. It's not your time yet."

I see the pity in his eyes as I feel the panic rise up. "Don't send me be back there!" I try to scream. "I don't want to go back! You don't know what hell is!"

Everything fades before my eyes. I feel the pain clawing at me, dragging me back to the hell hole.

"J-o-h-n-n-y!" But my voice is silent screaming with no sound coming out.

The only sound I can hear is my own name. Someone is shaking me, yelling my name over and over again. It's the raw pain and sense of urgency in that voice that forces my heavy eyelids open.

"Ponyboy," Two-Bit gasps, his face caked with mud and tears. "Get the fuck up and let's get off this godforsaken mountain – now!"

He helps me to my feet, which I'm relieved to find are still working. Despite the pounding pain in my head, I manage to run towards the huey, praying desperately that we don't get hit by mortar that's falling all around us.

The gunner is motioning at us to hurry. "The Gooks are not far behind!"

I'm feeling uncoordinated and Two-Bit is half dragging me along.

The gunner and Larry, who I'm relieved to see alive, haul us inside. I go crashing to the metallic ground, feeling bile rise up in my throat. Everything is spinning crazily around me.

"That's all of them!" I hear the gunner yell. "Get us out of here!"

The huey seems to take forever to get off the ground. All I can hear is pained screams, it's the most awful sound, something I've heard too much off now. I manage to drag myself up and glance at the medic who is working on trying to sedate Private Thompson, affectionately known as Thommo.

My eyes fasten to what is left of his legs. Two-Bit's swearing under his breath. "Sweet Jesus. Fuck. Fucking hell."

Next thing I know, more bile is rising up in my throat. I lean over the edge of the chopper and throw up. I see the ground below. I see the gooks swarm the hill we'd just left moments before.

Tears are streaming down my eyes. For the first time since arriving in this hell hole I feel hate. It burns like battery acid in the pit of my stomach. The salt from my tears sting the left side of my cheek which I'd forgotten about in my haste to reach the huey.

I feel hands pull me back onto the seat next to them.

"Ponyboy," I hear Two-Bit call, his voice sounding distorted in my ears. "Jeez, Pony! Your face …"

Oh god, my face. It must be bad. Not as bad Thommo's legs. I still have a face, right? I can feel it.

"Take your helmet off," Two-Bit instructs.

I swallow, feeling like throwing up all over again. "What if my brains fall out?"

My words sound slurred and strange. I know it sounds stupid. I have my brain – right?

Two-Bit's swearing again. I feel him remove my helmet, tears are still rolling down my cheeks. I feel like shit. I wish I was dead. I could have been with Johnny. Right now I'd take anything to be out of this place, even if it meant dying.

"No brains spilling out, Pony," Two-Bit manages to quip, but his voice comes out more like a sob than a laugh.

"Jesus Christ," he exclaims holding out my helmet, which has a large sizable dent in it.

I numbly think what my head would look like if I hadn't been wearing a helmet. I'd be dead for sure. As it is, my head feels like jello, maybe my brains are all mushed up inside?

Mercifully, Thommo has stopped screaming and has blissfully passed out. My own vision begins to blur. I'm more terrified than ever. Something is seriously wrong with me. Seeing the helmet didn't help. It reminds me of just how close I came to death, yet again.

"W-What about my face?" I gulp. I remember the bullet slicing into my cheek. "I-I still have a f-face?"

"Yeah, left cheek is all bloody," Two-Bit begins and shoves a handful of gauze he grabs from the medic to the left side of my face. "There's a deep gash from the bullet ..." Two-Bit's voice drops off and he hisses.

His eyes are bright with unshed tears. "You're one lucky son of a bitch, Pony, if ever there was one."

That's three times he's said that to me now. I know I should take comfort from that, but I feel shocking and it's getting worse.

"I s-saw … J-Johnny," I manage to get out, but I can't seem to formulate the words in my head. "He s-said … I … I'm g-onna be sick."

Two-Bit quickly grabs a kidney dish and shoves it towards me just as I spew in it. Not that there's anything left in my stomach. It's just yellow bile coming out and it keeps coming. The world is spinning crazily around me once more.

"What's the hell wrong with him?" I hear Two-Bit yell in panic.

Someone flashes a torch light in my eyes. "He's concussed. Not much we can do for him. Just keep him still. Try not to let him fall asleep. Can't ever tell the seriousness of a brain injury till we get him to the hospital."

Quite suddenly the throwing up stops. The world begins to steady a little. I feel Two-Bit draw me back into his arms. He's holding me.

"It's alright, Pony. I got you."

But I'd already heard the medic's words; _can never tell the seriousness of a brain injury._

"I'm … s-screwed n-now."

"Nah, Pony. Just hold on, you'll be fine. It's just a concussion. You've had it rough before. Been in enough rumbles to know."

I feel somewhat comforted for the first time in a long while. I had had a concussion before. In a rumble about four years ago. I remember how angry Darry had been. He wanted to belt the life out of the Soc that got me concussed. And he would have, if it meant not risk losing me and Soda to a boy's home. I briefly wonder what Darry's thinking right now. I imagine him taking in the sight of me, shaking his head, tears rolling down his cheeks. _'What's happened to you, Ponyboy?'_ I try to find the words but nothing comes out. I feel so ashamed. _'Don't look at me,'_ I tell him.

Then I shut the image out of my mind. Best not to think of home. I look across to the other side of the huey and I see Stephen's pale, drawn face. He made it out too. We're alive – just - barely. His eyes are full of dark, haunted shadows and I just know … we aren't ever gonna be the same again.

.

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* * *

 **A/N:** As I said it was a tough chapter to write and I'm almost as desperate as Ponyboy to get off that mountain! In fact, I really just wanted this chapter over or someone else to write it! This was the last major battle for the soldiers in Vietnam. That means that Ponyboy and Two-Bit won't find themselves in such a hellish experience again, but it doesn't mean they are out of the woods either. Anything can still happen!

Reviews are muchly welcomed and appreciated, even if it's just to let me know you are enjoying the not so enjoyable experiences of our favorite characters! Or maybe to yell at me for putting them through this hell? Either way I just really love hearing what people think.

Thanks for reading.

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	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! I have a lot of guest reviews, which I'm unable to respond to so I want to thank you for letting me know how much you are enjoying this story. It means a lot. I also want to thank my loyal reviewers who have stuck with this story since Chapter One. You guys are the reason for me to keep going with this! As for reviewer isaidiomas, I am open to suggestions and you said you had one, but I was unable to respond as you had signed in as a guest. If you do have an idea please leave me a PM.

This chapter isn't as intense, so you all get a little reprieve in that for now. I can't promise it'll stay that way though!

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 15.**_

* * *

 **.**

I hate throwing up. I hate the whole sensation of it, the way my stomach twists into painful knots, the continually gagging as tears leak out of my eyes and the world spinning crazily around me. But it's the uncertainty of not knowing if I'll be okay or not that terrifies me. Thommo had his legs blown off, that's it; they're gone for good. I still have a brain. I just don't know how damaged it is and what the repercussions will be.

However, I can still think logically enough and that gives me some hope it's just a concussion and nothing more. The first 24 hours will tell. Either, I'll improve or worsen.

The huey flew us to the nearest evacuation hospital which is in a state of disarray from the many wounded soldiers pouring in. I'm not listed critical, but I am put into a ward with others like myself that need observation.

At some point they stitch up the gash to my cheek from the bullet. I don't know how bad it is. I'm in a numb state of shock. Maybe I'll care when the room stops swaying, when I start to feel. Maybe I'll care when I look at myself in the mirror, or just maybe I'll never want to look at myself again.

I don't know how many hours pass. I drift in and out of a listless sleep. At times I think I'm home. Soda's in the shower, probably using up all the hot water. He better not, because I really need one and much more than him. I'm so dirty. There's black grime under my nails. I smell – really bad. I'm filthy. I can't remember the last time I had a hot shower. Soda's always using up all of the hot water. I gotta tell him to get out.

" _Soda," I croak. "Soda …"_

 _I need a shower. I need to get out of this bed. I feel a sudden panic take hold. I have to get out of here. Something is wrong. Why can't I move?_

" _Wake up, Ponyboy," I hear Darry call._

 _I'm trying to but my eyes won't open. "Darry," I try to say, but my voice is soundless._

 _I have to wake up._

 _I have to wake up – now – right now. My body begins to shake. Someone places a hand on my shoulder._

"It's okay," they speak. "You're just dreaming."

A sense of relief washes over me. Yes. Just dreaming and my eyes open. I look up into a pair of kind brown eyes. She's a nurse here, I remember her face from earlier. That's a good sign, right? I can remember.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

I'm not sure. Head hurts, but the world has steadied.

"Okay," I manage to mumble. "Better."

She flashes a torch in my eyes and smiles. It's been a while since I've seen someone smile.

"Pupils look good. I think it's safe to say that the worse is over."

I should feel relieved, but I don't feel anything. There is only one thing on my mind.

"Can I have a shower?"

She frowns. "Let's give it a few more hours."

I nod. What's a few more hours? That's all I do in this place – is wait.

"You can't let the stitches get wet either," she continues.

I raise a hand to my cheek. Now she mentions it, I can feel it stinging. There is a bandage covering the wound.

"You were lucky," she says. There is that word again. "Another few millimeters and the bullet would have shattered the whole left side of your face. I've seen enough of that."

Her face darkens briefly with pain before her eyes meet mine. "The gash was deep and quite long and it'll leave a scar, but that will fade with time."

She smiles again. I think its fake. I wonder how she manages it. I would smile back if I could remember how to do that, but all I can think about is Thommo's legs. I can still hear him screaming in my head.

I know I'm lucky. I wish people would stop saying it.

"By the way there is this guy in the waiting room, who is driving all of us crazy, says his name is Two-Bit. Do you think you're up to seeing him?"

I nod. "Yeah."

The nurse moves away. A few minutes later, Two-Bit appears. I see the relief in his eyes as he walks to my bed.

"Still alive," he says and although he attempts to sound light about it I hear the gruffness in his voice.

He's a sight for sore eyes.

"So far."

He holds up three fingers. "How many fingers do I have?"

"Very funny."

"I'm serious, Pony."

I roll my eyes which makes my head pound. Two-Bit perches himself on the edge of my bed.

"You look like shit," he continues.

I know. "I feel it." I frown up at him.

"You look clean, smell clean too."

"Had a shower."

"Lucky you," I mutter.

His eyes dart away from mine. "Yeah," he hisses, "I'm lucky … they're still counting the dead."

He rakes a hand through his hair. I don't miss the slight tremor in his hand. I know him well enough to know he's close to cracking up. And that terrifies me. Two-Bit can hold his shit together, but there is no humor to be had here – in this place, this battle; what we saw.

"Hundreds are wounded." He shakes his head. "Everywhere I go there's someone … I know … and then you …" his voice breaks off there.

"I'm gonna be alright," I hastily tell him. "Nurse just said I'm over the worst of it."

I don't know what I'd do if Two-Bit lost it. This place can drive the sanest of men crazy. I've seen it. Right now I'm too fragile myself to be of much help to him.

"I'll be out of here in a few hours," I continue.

He sighs. "You wanna be. Got a couple of days R&R now. Getting flown to China Beach. Don't want to miss that, might see Cherry."

I go very still at the mention of her name. That thought should cheer me up so why doesn't it? Maybe I'm too shell shocked to process it? I don't feel like facing anyone I know besides Two-Bit, I don't think I could even face Soda and Darry. The sudden knowledge of that worries me.

"I'm gonna get pissed," Two-Bit continues, his jaw tightening, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Drunker than I've ever been."

There would have been a time I would have told him not too, but I get it. I wish I didn't. My throat aches in my own efforts to stop the tears. I seriously have to toughen up if I'm gonna survive this place.

Don't feel, I tell myself, don't think.

* * *

Three hours later they discharge me. I finally get to have a shower and although I do feel dizzy I don't dare say anything to anyone in case they won't let me go. There is no way I'm staying here and there is no way that Two-Bit and I get separated. I'm getting on that plane with him.

I'm glad to finally dispense of my filthy clothes, but not before I fumble for the photo of me and Soda in my pocket. I carefully place it in the pocket of the clean pair of clothes given to me. I don't look at it. I haven't looked at it in weeks.

* * *

The water is blissfully warm. I lather myself with soap. I attempt to wash my hair, careful not to get the stitches wet. The sensation of the water running down my skin is soothing. I would have stood there all day if I could.

I try to shave, but my hands shake too much. I run my fingers through my hair to comb it flat. It's grown. I feel the short strands slip between my fingers, but I don't know how much as I avoid eye contact in the mirror. I don't want to look, to see that everything about me is wrong.

* * *

We're all quiet on the plane flight to Da Nang for R&R. Even Two-Bit. I'm considering going AWOL. Three years in prison would be preferable to this, I think.

"What'd they say about your face?" Two-Bit asks after a while, as if having just noticed it now.

I shrug. "That I'm lucky," I mutter. "I'll have a scar, but still a face."

I remember the nurse's words. _Another few millimeters and the bullet would have shattered the whole left side of your face._ At least I would have been sent home, but I can't imagine being home without Two-Bit. We're in this together. I don't leave without him.

He offers me a smoke and I pull one out of the packet. It's the first cigarette I've had since the extraction on the hill had started yesterday morning.

"Guess I am lucky," I mutter, lighting the cigarette.

But, really, the lucky ones are the people at home that don't have to see what I've seen and do what I've had to do. They get to live in ignorance. I get to stay in hell.

"How many stitches?" Two-Bit asks.

I shrug again. "I didn't ask." As if it matters.

"You're just full of information, Pony," he remarks in a light tone of voice. "You gonna tell Soda and Darry about it?"

I can imagine it. _Hey by the way, I nearly had my face blown off._

"I'm not sure how I'd even start with that."

The thought of the scar begins to bother me and it has nothing to do with vanity.

I'm not vain. It's the reminder it'll always serve that bothers me. How close I came to dying on that day, in that battle, a battle that has claimed 75 lives at the last count. I know I got off lightly.

People will ask how did I get the scar and what do I say? It'll require me to talk about something I want to forget. If I can ever forget it that is. Because right now I can still hear the mortar fall, guys screaming and wailing.

I'm traumatized. We all are.

It's funny because after it's all over, they give us a two day R&R pass along with the next meeting place at 0800 hours to go fight for another day. I know everyone just wants to get wasted, like blind drunk to try to forget the horrors we've just seen. Except for me because I'm under strict orders of 'absolutely no alcohol' due to the head injury. Which pisses me off because I want to get blind drunk so I can at least forget for one night. Though in truth, I don't think I could stomach it. I'm still feeling nauseous all of the time. There is a continue pounding pain in my head. The left side of my face is still real tender and sore. I'm so tired. All I want to do is find a bed and sleep.

I'm glad the flight is only 40 minutes. I'm glad to get off the plane. I see the brightness of the blue ocean and I feel – nothing. It's just a color. Nothing seems real anymore.

* * *

I don't go looking for her, Cherry. I have to report to the hospital, have some tests and make sure I'm well enough not to be hospitalized for longer. She happens to be the first nurse I see as I enter the outpatient clinic.

Her eyes widen at the sight of me and then sudden relief sweeps over her face, a _thank god you're alive_ look.

I swallow, unsure of what to say or do. I haven't prepared myself to see her yet.

She approaches me. Her eyes raking over my face.

"Ponyboy," she gasps.

It seems so weird to hear my name on her lips. I've not been called that in a while. It's always Curtis, even Two-Bit's taken to calling me that in front of the other guys, on my request. He only calls me Pony when we're on our own, and rarely Ponyboy except when he's worried or wants to throttle me. I guess it's the sniggers and the ragging from other grunts that did it, made me tell him to call me Curtis out here.

I feel her hand on my arm, the other hand resting on my uninjured cheek.

Her touch is soothing despite the shame I feel. I can't bring myself to look at her.

"What happened?" I hear the worry in her voice. "Your face?"

I sudden wave of nausea hits me along with the dizziness. A sharp pain pierces my head. I stagger and the next thing I know, she's led me to a chair and is telling me to lean forward and to take a few deep breaths. I think she's good at this, being a nurse.

"I'm sorry," I manage to say. "I've got a concussion."

It's easier to talk when looking at the floor.

"You were at Ripcord?"

I guess she knows all about it being a nurse, probably seen worse than I have, but at least she's saving lives and not taking them.

"Yes."

I feel her hand rest on my shoulder. I know that if I look at her I'll see the compassion in her eyes, but I can't bear to see it. I'm feeling wretched enough as it is.

"I was at an evacuation hospital for 24 hours. On R&R now and was told that I had to come here for a check-up."

My voice is a bit calmer as the dizziness subsides.

"And your cheek?"

This is the part that doesn't come easy. I swallow. "A bullet wound."

She goes quiet, stock still.

"But it's alright, just grazed my cheek, needed some stitches is all."

Like it's no big deal, but it kinda is, coming that close to death, that's the third time now.

She kneels down in front of me, her hands resting on my knees. I feel her eyes search my face.

"Ponyboy," she begins.

I blink and keep my gaze focused on the ground.

"Look at me."

Easier said than done. If I look at her, she'll she the horror in my eyes. See what I've seen, what I've become.

"Ponyboy," she continues. "Look at me."

I hear a slight desperate plea in the tone of her voice.

"Please."

It's the last word that gets me, the raw desperation in it. I raise my tortured gaze to hers. I see the compassion in her eyes, as I knew I would. I don't need to tell her about hell, I can see she is living in it too. An odd shared understanding passes between us.

Once again, her hand lightly caresses my uninjured cheek.

"You look so tired."

She has no idea.

"I could sleep for a week."

She nods. "It's part of the concussion. Your body demands the rest it needs in order to heal."

Standing up, she moves to a metal tray, pushing it in my direction. I'm familiar with this process by now.

"Let's see how you're faring with it, by what I've already seen you're still experiencing dizziness?"

"Yeah."

She's all efficient now, nurse like. I still find it hard to imagine her here in this place and a nurse of all things.

"Any nausea?"

"Yes."

"How long since the injury and how did it happen?"

I hate talking about it and try to rein in my turbulent emotions.

"We were running to the huey. I felt the bullet graze my cheek, if off balanced me, I tripped and my head smashed onto a rock."

"You lose consciousness?"

I remember the white light and Johnny. He was there. _Ain't your time yet, Ponyboy._ A lump forms in my throat.

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

I remember Two-Bit's anxious voice calling my name. How desperate he sounded, the raw emotion in his voice.

"Not long, maybe a minute or two."

"Where did you hit your head?"

I gingerly point to the spot.

Her fingers gently prod the afflicted area. It hurts. I flinch.

"You have a sizeable lump on your head."

She flashes the torch in my eyes, takes my pulse and blood pressure.

"What time did you sustain the injury?"

It's hard to know, everything was crazy and frantic.

"Um …" I try to block the images out of my mind. "Maybe around ten?"

She looks at her wrist watch. A short lock of red hair falls across her forehead. For a moment I'm fixated on this, her face, how pale she looks and tired, almost as tired as me.

"It's been 28 hours."

Is that all? It's feels like forever.

Her gaze meets mine. She bites down on her bottom lip, her face clouds with concern.

"I don't think you should be left alone yet. You're not entirely out of the woods, but I also think a good few days of just resting and sleeping is what you need."

It's not what I want to hear. "I don't want to go back into hospital."

"The other nurse I share a room with, Patricia, is away for the week. You can sleep in her bed. It'll be quiet there."

I blink in surprise. "But isn't that breaking rules. Won't we get into trouble?"

"Hardly," she snorts. "Everyone does it here. Nobody cares, there's no time for it."

A proper bed in a quiet place suddenly sounds like heaven. It's been a while. Right now I'm too exhausted to care.

"Okay."

"My shift ends in a few hours. I'll check up on you then."

"Can you let Two-Bit know where I am?"

"Where will he be?"

"Where else but the …"

"Tavern," she finishes for me, a small smile tilting up the corners on her mouth. It doesn't last long as her eyes meet with mine. I see the concern return. She raises a hand and lightly touches my face.

"You've had it rough."

My throat tightens and all I can manage is a nod of my head. I can't speak about it. I'm only just holding on, and I can see she senses this.

"You need some water," she begins and turns away.

I watch her fill a disposable cup with water from a jug, welcoming the sudden distance. I can't explain it, just that I don't think I deserve it; her kindness. And I'm afraid. Afraid of losing it in front of her. Falling to the ground in one weeping pile of grief.

She hands the cup of water to me.

"When was the last time you had pain relief?"

"A while."

Cherry gave me the number of her living quarters after making me take two Panadol.

"Sorry it can't be anything stronger, but just in case you do have some bleeding on the brain I can't chance it."

"Thanks," I say to her. I wish I could say more, but I can't find the right words. That kiss we shared seems nothing more than a dream now. I have to wonder if it ever happened.

* * *

Grabbing my duffle bag, I find her room, more like a hut but ten times better than us grunts ever have. She is an officer. Even here in this hole of a place there is a hierarchy and she's way up whilst I'm right down on the bottom. Somethings don't change, I muse.

* * *

The room is neat. The bed looks inviting after sleeping on a hard ground floor for the last month. I dispense of my shirt and trousers. Pulling a t-shirt out of my bag, I put it on and lay down on the bed, dragging the cotton sheet over myself. The sheet is cool, the pillow soft and I'm out like a light. I welcome the darkness, a place where nothing exists, but it doesn't last.

It never does.

I see him. I always see him. His dark eyes, surprised, shocked and questioning – why?

He's just a boy, forced to kill or choosing to. His land, not mine. I don't ask to be here, but I am.

 _I'm sorry … I'm so sorry … sorry._

It's kill or be killed. I don't want to die.

 _Better him than you._

They swarm like ants, crawling, killing and blowing us up; blowing our legs off, blowing us into pieces. I hear the screams of my buddies. I feel the hate. I feel the blood pouring out of the boy. I didn't ask for this.

I'm not sorry.

 _Better him than me._

I wake with a fright. The grief and hate merging with each other till I can't distinguish where one ends and the other begins. Sweat is trickling down the back of my neck. I'm gasping in air as if I can't breathe.

The dream deeply disturbs me. Tears burn at the back of my eyes.

I frantically try to get my bearings when I notice a yellow light is illuminating the room. It comes from a desk. Cherry is sitting on a chair, watching me, her eyes filled with sorrow.

I remember now. The hospital, seeing her, and her offering me a place to sleep.

"You okay?" she asks.

No, not really, probably not ever again. But I don't have to say it, I know she sees it.

"How long have I been asleep?" I ask.

"About six hours."

A rake a hand through my hair and try to steady my frayed nerves. I'm on the brink of a breakdown and a sudden longing to find Two-Bit overcomes me.

"Two-Bit," I begin, my voice catching in my throat.

"He knows you're here. I found him at the tavern. He even came by to see you, but you were asleep."

Her face is filled with sympathy. I can barely stand to look at it. I don't deserve it.

"I have to find him," I return, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

A sudden wave of dizziness swamps me.

"You can't get up too quickly, Ponyboy. You have to take it slow."

I don't want to take it slow. But in truth, I don't know what I want. I feel at odds with myself. I feel strange.

"What do I do?" I mutter.

"Drink some water," she says, shoving a glass in my hand.

I take the glass from her hands. My mouth feels so dry. I scull the water down. But it offers no comfort.

"When did you last eat?

I honestly don't remember.

"You need to eat some food."

She sounds so much like Darry that a sense of strong nostalgia washes over me.

"I have to find Two-Bit."

Reaching for my shirt and pants, I put them on.

"Ponyboy," she sighs. "Just eat something first."

I don't listen, I can't. Such is my sense of urgency. I already know where I can find Two-Bit. By now he's probably sleeping off the effects of the alcohol, a rational part of my mind tells me. Right now, I feel anything but rational.

I don't bother with shoes. I don't even bother buttoning up my shirt. I just leave her hut. I walk towards the infantry sleeping quarters. Not much more than a large tent filled with stretchers. No comfy beds in there, no sheets or fans.

"Ponyboy," I hear Cherry call.

A couple of soldiers walking by, snicker at the name.

"Shut up, grunts," Cherry snaps at them, sounding every bit the feisty red-head she is. For a moment it's comforting and familiar.

She catches up with me, grabbing me by the arm.

"Listen to me," she says, sounding worried. "I don't know if you're acting this way from shock at what you've seen, or from the concussion, but until I know, I can't leave you alone. You have to stay with me, Pony."

I look down at her, swallowing. "I feel as if I'm nowhere," I try to explain. "I just want to see him and then I'll be okay."

She doesn't look convinced about the okay part, but she nods.

"But then you'll come back to my room and rest?"

"Yeah."

* * *

I find Two-Bit fast asleep on his stretcher, snoring. The sight of him is reassuring. He's alright, just sleeping off the booze. I can smell it a mile away. Typical. He'll have one hang over in the morning, will feel as shitty as I do.

"Ponyboy," I hear Cherry hiss.

She sure is insistent.

Dragging my gaze away from Two-Bit, I turn around and leave the tent. I thought seeing Two-Bit would make me feel better, but I feel so lost. I keep hear the screaming. It doesn't stop.

I want it to stop, but there is no relief to be had.

I don't even know where I'm going, just that it's away from the light and towards the darkness of the beach.

I can hear the ocean waves pounding on the shore like the pounding in my head. A band is tightening around my chest, making breathing difficult. Quite suddenly I'm exhausted.

I slump to the ground. Tears slide down my cheeks and I don't bother to hold it in. I wrap my arms around myself as if that'll stop me falling apart.

There is only Cherry to see. She sits down next to me. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. Her presence is kind of soothing. Plus I think she's cried her fair share of tears in this place too.

The war within me rages, but eventually my tears subside. I can feel her waiting. I don't know what she expects me to say, but there is something I need to tell her. Something I can't really talk about with anyone else. But just maybe she might understand and I need that. I need to find some sort of absolution.

"I killed a boy," I murmur. "No more than 14. He was just there and I ran him through with a bayonet."

She still doesn't speak. I'm glad for that. What can anyway say as it is.

"At the time I felt so guilty, but now …" I continue, my jaw clenching. "I didn't think I could feel so much hate."

Pulling a packet of cigarettes out of her shirt pocket, she offers me one.

"I feel it. I feel it every day." Is all she says.

I take a cigarette and she lights it for me. We sit there in silence, puffing away.

"We ain't ever gonna be the same again are we?"

"Maybe not."

A take a deep pained filled breath. "I can't escape it. I just want to forget."

She slips her hand in mine and lightly squeezes my fingers.

"I know one way we can forget," she murmurs.

I'm not sure what to make of that. I can't drink alcohol, unless she means drugs? I can't see that either but you never know.

All I know is that her hand feels warm holding mine as she leads me back to her hut. She's my source of comfort and the only person who understands my pain apart from Two-Bit. But Two-Bit is fast asleep in a drunken stupor. I'm in need. I need a distraction to keep the horror of my memories at bay. She has seen the same horrors, probably even worse. She gets it.

Once in her hut, she lights a candle and hands me a mug along with a dinner roll.

"Drink and eat," she instructs. "The soup has probably gone cold by now, but you need some food in you."

I do as she says. The soup is surprisingly tasty and I'm suddenly hungry. It's probably been a good two days since I last ate.

I watch her switch a radio on. The lyrics to a Simon and Garfunkel song drift through the night air - _hello darkness my old friend._ It stirs up memories long forgotten.

"I remember when this first came out," I say. "It was my 12th birthday and dad had cranked the radio up really loud. He sure did love this song."

A hint of a smile crosses her face. "He had good taste in music."

She slips her shoes off, runs her hands through her hair. I find my gaze drawn to her, the way the red curls dance around her face. I find myself wondering how we ended up in this place, the two of us, a world far removed from Greaser's and Soc's.

"Um … thanks for the soup."

I feel as if I should say more, but I also know she doesn't expect me too. It's odd how easily we understand each other.

She takes my hands in hers and moves closer towards me. A catch a waft of her perfume. Her gaze is open and honest as her eyes meet with mine.

"Ponyboy," she begins. "Kiss me."

For a moment I'm surprised. A small sweet smile tilts up the corners of her mouth. "It's called forgetting."

I don't hesitate. Closing my eyes, I brush my lips lightly over hers. She captures my lips and deepens the kiss. Her tongue slips intimately over mine, teasing, coaxing while her hands work their way to the waistband on my trousers. They fall to the ground.

The way she touches me, her fingers lightly brushing against my skin, making it tingle as she plants kisses down the side of my neck. It feels – real – like I'm still in touch – I'm still here.

Her eyes meet mine.

"You've not done this before?"

It's more a statement than a question.

I feel myself blush. "No."

Suddenly I'm afraid she'll change her mind. "But don't stop – please."

I want to feel normal again; human. I want to feel alive. I need it - more than anything.

She traces the outline of my mouth with her fingers. "I think it's sweet," she breathes. "That not every guy out there is a sleaze."

I already knew she'd been hurt bad before. I still remember her words. _They shattered all of my illusions and broke every bit of my heart._

"It's been a long while for me too."

I'm captivated by the haunted shadows in her eyes.

She replaces her fingers with her lips in a kiss that speaks of a yearning for something lost.

"I think we can help each other," she softly murmurs.

I watch mesmerized as she unbuttons her shirt. She slips it over her shoulder. It falls to the ground. My eyes rest on her breasts and my breath catches in my throat. She is so beautiful.

Raising a hand I lightly caress her breast. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, but Cherry guides my hands to how she wants to be touched, what she likes. I just let her, because right now, every other horrid memory has vanished. All I see his her, and all I feel is my desire for her. I brush a kiss against her lips, and one against her collar bone. I move my hips against hers, whether I'm good at this or not doesn't seem to matter. I hear a low moan in her throat and it's all the encouragement I need.

Our hands and lips roam at will, touching and caressing and exploring with a kind of startled delight, at discovering each other. Somehow we manage to find the bed. A natural instinct takes hold. Any inner inhibitions I might have had are stripped away in the sweet intensity of this moment. The sensations are so new, so sharp and so wonderful.

Afterwards, we lie in each other's arms, legs entangled on the bed, breathing heavily. I bury my face in her wild mane of short curls. Her hair smells of apples, it tickles my nose. For a while I feel content.

She snuggles up to me, resting her head on my shoulder, not speaking, rubbing her hand lightly against my chest. "It's good, Ponyboy," she murmurs. "I can't remember feeling this way before."

* * *

Later, she tells me how having sex with me was healing in light of what had happened to her. It had set her free. Free from what she doesn't say and maybe I'm better off not knowing.

Instead, we just hold one another and eventually fall asleep in each other's arms. It's the first peaceful night sleep I've had in months.

It's funny, because all those times Two-Bit nagged me about losing my virginity, I never tell him about what Cherry and I did. I just want to keep the memory to myself, where it can't be tainted like everything else is in this place. I don't need to boast. We were just two people taking comfort from each other. I can't even begin to process my feelings for her. What I feel – is it love? I don't dare to go there. Not here. There is no point hoping in this place.

I never know what day will be my last.

None of us do.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Please leave a review! I'm not sure how people feel about Cherry? However, in this story I really wanted to capture how two people can take comfort and try to escape the horrors of war, even if just for a moment. That's more or less what this chapter is about. I'm not sure if I did it justice? I'm always critical of my own writing.

Everything in this story is not based from anything I've watched in the way of films. I really wanted to be authentic as much as possible. The only research I've done is in the way of peoples own real life personal accounts.

Next chapter will be from Two-Bit's POV.

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	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Thank you for all the great reviews to date! They make my day! I've managed an update in just two weeks, yay. However, this chapter is a bit shorter than my average one. Writing this story doesn't get any easier. It's a tough subject matter.

This chapter is from Two-Bit's POV.

Enjoy.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 16.**_

* * *

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I'd never been so scared in my whole life. And not just scared for my own life, but Pony's as well. Man, but that kid is such a worry. I can sympathise with Darry. Three times Pony could have died, and I swear to god I've aged ten years. It didn't help seeing him lying unconscious on the ground. I dreaded that moment - finding him dead.

 _No … fuck … no … he better not be._ My heart pounding in my chest was all I could hear. The gun fire, the bombs falling – none of that mattered. Only Ponyboy. He looked so lifeless, his cheek a bloody mess and my heart was sinking.

I'm screaming at him, shaking him so hard as if I could shake life back into him. And then his eyes opened. I can't even begin to explain the instant relief. But we weren't out of danger and I'm convinced we would never make it to the huey. I'm half dragging him, desperate to get the hell out of that place.

But it ain't all right, even once on that huey, there was Thommo screaming, Ponyboy still scaring the hell out of me with his slurred words and talk of brains falling out.

I'd never been more terrified.

I held him, and I cried. Fuck. I hate crying. Only this place could make me cry. It makes everyone cry no matter how tough you are.

And then there was the waiting, all those hours, just waiting at the hospital. Ponyboy was coherent last I saw him, he was talking, he was going to be okay. He better be. Because the thought of life without Pony in it didn't even bear thinking about. Those hours were the worst. Those hours were the darkest. I was only an inch away from losing it, losing my shit and that takes some. I've always held it together, seen the funny side of life and try to help other people see it too. But not here. I can't see anything to joke about in this shit hole. Because that's the only way to describe it here – one big stinking shit hole.

I hate hospitals too. They make me think of death. They make me think of Johnny and Dallas. Too many of us have died. I don't know what I'd do if Pony were next. I'm too attached to the kid. Out of all the gang members he was the easiest to get along with. In the early days he was easy to impress too. Just a kid, not rough and tough like the others. He kind of had this innocent wonder about him. I guess I wanted a brother, Soda had Steve, Darry was too old and then there was just Ponyboy. Ponyboy would laugh at my corny jokes, give me skeptical looks when he knew I was having him on. The kid wasn't stupid. If anything he was astute, and he was likeable. And I guess we just clicked, different as we are.

He had a way of making everything seem just that bit more real. Luckily, he was going to be okay, so it turned out. Physically that is, but I can see it in his face – he's not okay. He's a mess inside. Hell, so I am. We just don't talk about it. I can't afford to let myself go there in fear that'll it consume me. I've always been like that. Always saying everything will be all right, even when knowing it won't be, as if I need to believe just saying those words will make it so.

* * *

Everyone has a different way in how they deal with what we've seen and had to do.

I spent the whole two days of R&R getting wasted. I drank more than I ever have. I like drinking. It's hardly a secret. The old girl used to nag me about it, how I was gonna end up like my old man if I didn't stop. But I ain't nothing like him. Except for the drinking part, but he was a mean son of a bitch when drunk from what little I can remember of him. I'm not like that.

I just like to have fun. That's what I tell myself. I drink, I feel lighter and better. That's why I used to drink, but out here – I drink to forget, to escape. So I spent the whole two days pissed and Ponyboy spent it with Cherry, recovering. I was sort of relieved about that. I needed to deal with my own emotional fallout and Ponyboy needed lots of looking after. I figured Cherry, being a nurse and all, gave him that, but how much I don't know. Ponyboy is very reticent discussing those two days. There would have been a time I would have teased him about it, but I can't do it. My heart isn't in it. Maybe it'll come back to me. One day.

Right now I'm more worried about Ponyboy. I think something serious is going down with him. I know he came close to dying and we've seen horrible stuff, fucking stuff of nightmares and it worries the shit out of me. Ponyboy has always been a bit on the sensitive side. Not his fault. We're all just hard wired differently. Not only that, but he's still only 18.

" _19 in three months,"_ he tells me. _"If I get to live to see it that is."_

Its words he'll utter like that that bother me, like he has this sense of fatalism. A lot of guys talk that way out here so it shouldn't bother me, only it does. There is no hope left in his eyes and not the same spark either. Not that I blame him for that, but I hate seeing it. It's only been a month since the battle at Ripcord. A month is nowhere near long enough to get over what we saw. And I guess it's an accumulation of lots of little things that has me worried about Pony. He doesn't carry a book to read anymore and he's not touched the camera. I know he keeps that photo of him and Soda in his shirt pocket, but he never looks at it. When he had the stitches removed from his cheek he never once mentioned it. The scar is still red and angry looking. It runs along his cheekbone.

"It's a long scar, a good three inches." I had told him.

He just shrugged.

"Have you said anything to Darry and Soda?" I'd asked him.

He frowned. "No. Should I?"

And that's the other thing. I know he hasn't written to them in a while. I know this because I just received a letter from Darry yesterday. _I haven't heard from Ponyboy in nearly two months. Only you would know what's going on with him? Soda and I are worried sick over here. News is beginning to leak through about some battle over there with heavy losses. I know in Pony's last letter he wrote that you had both been sent there, Camp Evans. We need to know that you all are okay. We need some peace of mind. I know I can count on you Two-Bit, to give it to us straight._

The letter has been playing on my mind ever since. I know I have to say something to Ponyboy. There was a time I wouldn't have hesitated, but now … now I have to think before I speak.

We're out on patrol. That's all we seem to ever do, but at least there is little action to be had presently. We look out for mines before the plant equipment or any transports come through. The engineers have been rebuilding this road, who knows what the fuck for. We don't really ask. We just get told and we just do it. The theory is that the gooks would slip in at night time and lay mines on the newly made pieces of road and it was our job to make sure it was all okay. It was boring as all jack shit. Probably what we needed after that battle. But one week out here feels like a month or more.

"Anyone know the date?" I call out as we file either side of the road.

"Who the fuck cares," one person yells back.

Pony gives me a sideways glance. "It's the 30th of August," he mutters.

Well at least some things don't change, I bitterly muse. Pony still keeps track of time. Poor kid. He must be so desperate to get home.

"Why you wanna know?" he continues.

"I was just wondering how long it takes for mail to reach from home to here," I return, I pull the crumpled up piece of paper from my pocket. "Because I have this letter."

I wave it clearly about for Pony to see.

"From Darry," I state. "Because he's worried as all hell about you. I know its shit out here, but think what your brothers are going through."

Pony's face drops and I get a glimpse of the raw pain in his eyes. God I fucking hate this place and what it's done to us.

"You gotta write to them, Pony." I manage to get out in a hoarse voice. "They're your brothers. You shouldn't cut them out of your life. When we get out of this hell hole you're gonna need them, maybe they'll be the only thing to make you whole again."

Pony goes silent for a moment. A thoughtful look crosses his face.

"And what about you?" he asks. "What will make you whole again?"

His words surprise me, but they shouldn't. Pony is still astute as always, that much hasn't changed.

"You," I slowly return. "As long as I have you."

I wouldn't have ever admitted to such a thing once, but there is no place for male ego or pride anymore, not out here.

His eyes are bright with checked emotion. "Yeah," he stammers. "Me too."

Enough said. We already know the lengths we'd go through to protect each other. Being out here just makes that bond even stronger. A lot of the guys do that in war when you're fighting and one life depends on the other. It's not just camaraderie; it's more, it goes deeper. I don't think anyone at home would understand it. You have to be in hell to get it.

Ponyboy and I, we're in hell for sure. We've been here for only five months. Five fucking months. Our tour isn't even half way over yet. I don't count days like Pony does. Not yet. What's the point? Once we reach the halfway mark, then maybe I'll start counting the days. He has a calendar and crosses the days off, well at least he used to.

"You still counting down the days, Pony?"

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"Too many days."

"That ain't an answer," I grumble.

He sighs. "210."

"Fuck that," I mutter.

A hint of a smile hovers over Pony's mouth. He shakes his head. "I shouldn't have told you."

My swearing has got really bad. I can imagine my mom giving me a hard time about it when I get home. I imagine it a lot. All the different ways she'll cuss me. She'll call me Keith. I think I won't mind her calling me that anymore. I think about my kid sister. I think about the stories I'll tell her and how much I'm gonna have to lie to everyone. I think about stuff like this all the time. It keeps me sane. It keeps the fear at bay. Because the fear I feel out here is with me all the time. I can't really escape it, none of us can. I see the fear in Pony's eyes, and most of the platoon. Some guys just look hard, the ones that have been here the longest. I'm getting now, to where I can put myself into a semi-shock state. I can just see things happening and just accept that they're happening because I'm here, and one day I won't have to see it anymore; when I get home. It stops me from cracking up.

* * *

My words must have gotten to Ponyboy. Later that night I see him trying to write in a notepad. I'm hoping it's to Darry and Soda. It better be. I ask him. He nods. Just to make sure I write back to Darry all the same. I tell it close to what I can, as much as I can.

 _Dear Darry and Soda,_

 _We were at that battle, but we got out okay. Ponyboy had a minor injury which he probably won't tell you about out of fear he'll worry you. He had to have some stitches to his cheek and suffered a concussion, but he's all right. We've seen some pretty rough stuff and by that I mean, the rumbles are nothing in comparison. But we look out for each other. We'll get through this. It ain't pretty here. Just gotta survive it and come home. That's what holds us together, you know, just the thought of getting home and having a normal life again. Ponyboy is counting down the days. He's had it rough but he's holding on._

For now I think to myself, but for how much longer? He hasn't lost it yet and that's something for a kid his age.

 _He's tougher than you think._

 _Two-Bit_

I write to my mom next. Stop the old girl from worrying too much, because I know she is. I feel bad about that, what a lousy son I've been. And now I've just deserted her and my kid sister. Before that I was pretty much just a bum. I did sweet fuck all. When I get home, I'm gonna take more responsibility.

 _Dear Mom,_

 _Hope you've been getting the money. Least I can pay my own way now, and most the rent. Vietnam is like being in hell but I'm doing okay, surviving it; so far. Don't worry about me. I can hold my own. Only have seven more months to go. Time flies here._

I'm such a fucking liar. I just hope it goes quick for them.

 _Before you know it, I'll be back home and you'll be wishing to be rid of me. Just kidding._

When I get home – and I don't doubt it like Pony does. I'm gonna get home. I'm not dying here.

 _I've been saving most of my money._ When not spending it on booze or smokes.

 _I should have a nice little nest egg by the time I get home. I'm gonna take you and the kid sister on a holiday, by the beach. Just the three of us, like a real little family._

 _Love always_

 _Keith_

* * *

The days drag by. We come back off an operation, probably have one day or less than a day in camp and they say, _'Right, you're going out again tonight.'_ I'd have time just to replenish everything, get my gear together and away I go again, completely disorientated, no one tells us anything. We're just told to go to a certain area, to a map reference and that was it. Nobody even said whether it was a standard area of a place or a village. We're just part of a machine that picks us up and deposits us and tells us to get on with it.

In between operations, we try to wind down. We get off on Jimi Hindrex, some of the guys smoke joints but I don't. Smoking marijuana is not my thing. I just drink. I keep a stash of bourbon or Bacardi. I caught Pony smoking pot. I guess I should say something. Darry wouldn't' like it. But then, Darry's not here, and he wouldn't have any idea what this place is like. If Pony want's to smoke pot on occasion, who am I to judge? You gotta do what you have to, to get through this nightmare of a place.

* * *

Pony continues to cross the days off the calendar. We hang out for R&R every couple of months. Those are days I spend blind drunk. Even Pony at times. Sometimes Cherry will rock up at the tavern.

She likes to drink as much as the next person. This place is just surreal like that. We all end up pissed. Then Pony would disappear with Cherry somewhere. I would see her slip her hand into his. I assume she takes him back to her room. Maybe she's screwing him. Lucky Pony, the only luck I'm gonna get is if I pay for it. Which I don't out here. I'm shit scared of picking up some sexually transmitted disease. I know too many guys who have.

There are a few cute American girls out here too and not just nurses. There's the Donut Dollies, always smiling, despite the shit going on around them. I'm on friendly terms with them, tell some jokes and have a bit of a laugh. Sometimes it's nice to talk about home. But that's about it. I can't remember the last time I got laid. That's gonna change when I get home.

I did ask Pony. "So you and Cherry? You get it on or what?"

He was quiet for a bit before saying. "It's just comfort sex. Forgetting. That's what she calls it."

Each to their own. "Still sex," I added. "Was it good?"

He nodded and there was a light in his eyes I'd not seen for a long while.

"Hell, yeah."

Then R&R would end. We were back out in the jungle, on another patrol, in a place we didn't know for reasons that continue to blur. This place is enough to suck all joy and life out of me. I've forgotten how to joke. As if it matters anymore. I've gotten that way where I just think of myself and Ponyboy and how to survive.

* * *

Pony turns 19. He doesn't say anything about it and neither do I. Every now and again, I'll ask him; 'how many more days?'

They tick slowly over. Painfully so.

"I'm gonna die of boredom at this rate," I tell him.

Then before I know it, it's 99 days. We can survive this. So far we've had very few skirmishes and nothing like Ripcord. Since the Vietnamization program has been put into place, handing the reigns over to the ARVN, means less of our guys dying and more of theirs.

I'm fine with that. Not our fucking war. We should never have been here at all.

Pony gets hell angry about it. I don't like the way I sometimes see the rage simmering in his eyes.

It's not right.

It's not Ponyboy. It's just what this place is turning him – us into.

"99 days," I murmur out loud. "That ain't so bad."

Little did I know it'd be one of my last days in this shit hole.

* * *

As always we're out on another patrol, always waiting for goons to pop out of nowhere and hoping they don't. We've seen enough action by now – we've had enough.

That's when I hear the click. That's when I know I've had it. It's a chi-com jumper mine, the type that punches straight up once I let the pressure off.

There's no getting out of this without losing a leg at least.

Pony tries to get a bayonet under my boot. He's swearing like I've never heard him swear before. This is going to send him over the edge, I dully think as sweat trickles down the back of my neck. It's like a black hole has opened up in the pit of my gut. I know the bayonet ain't gonna work. There is no way Pony can hold the pressure on. I'm not about to see him lose a limb in his attempt to save me from it.

"Forget it," I mutter. "Get the fuck back, Ponyboy."

But he refuses. He can be so stubborn at times. His stubbornness reminds me of Darry. Darry would have been proud of the kid if he could see him now.

"I can get this," Pony tells me. There's a wild look in his eyes. "I'm strong enough."

I shake my head. "Not even Darry could … you know it."

Pony's not about to give up, him and Larry put sandbags and packs and fuck knows what to try and hold the bayonet down and keep pressure on it, but I know it won't work. I know that once I lift my foot the pressure-release spring will be too great. It will just punch up in the air, taking my foot with it and maybe my whole leg.

"You can all fuck off now. Leave me to it," I growl as beads of sweat dot my forehead.

It's going to fucking hurt. I just want it out of the way. I want it to be over.

I've resigned myself to it. My mouth is dry. I look at Pony and I can see he hasn't. I can see the tears streaming down his pale thin face. I want to say sorry. _Sorry I can't be here to look out for you anymore_.

I tried. I tried my damn best. But Pony will be on his own from here on out, the thought of that leaves me gutted. I feel tears leak out of the corners of my eyes as well. I don't bother holding them back. I don't think I could even if I tried.

I'm done with this place.

"Stay back, Pony. I swear I'll kill you if you try to stop it."

Something in my voice must have sunk in. He moves back, his face filled with such anguish.

Taking a deep breath, I screw my eyes shut, and then I release my foot from the chi-com. The whole damn world goes still. Then there is a loud deafening bang.

Nothing can really prepare me for it. Nothing at all. My whole body is flung back. I feel my lower leg ripped from me. Then there is the pain, followed by excruciating and nauseating agony. A wave of sickness washes over me, the outer perimeter of my vision fades out.

I hear Pony screaming.

It's the last thing I hear before I blank out.

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 **A/N:** Sorry to end it there ... I don't know what else to say. It's really dark times for Two-Bit and Pony. It's hard to write too. Much of what I've written is loosely based on real life accounts which are very harrowing to read. I never knew how much till I started this story! I kind of just want the war to be over and Pony and Two-Bit safely at home, but even when they get home, the war is never really over for them.

On that depressing note, I'd really love to hear from people, even if it's just to yell at me for what's happened to Two-Bit. Suggestions are always welcomed too.

Thanks for reading!

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	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** Wow, I can't believe I've written another chapter in just one week! The ideas were flowing and I went with it. It's not often it happens that way. Still took me two days to write it! I wanted to get this uploaded tonight as I have a huge pile of marking waiting and reports to do. I'm going to be flat out busy for the next two weeks. There may be some errors, I've tried to edit as much as possible with time permitting.

Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews. They really make my day and inspire me to keep this story going.

Enjoy, though it's grim in parts.

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* * *

 **Chapter 17.**

* * *

.

They think I can't hear them – but I can. I hear their whispered voices all around me.

 _The kid's lost it. Should have made him get on the huey with his buddy._

I didn't even get a chance to reach him. Someone had hold of me, not sure who. I was yelling, trying to get Two-Bit to wake up.

I'm inconsolable. The whole last ten minutes has been fucked up. Two-Bit stepping on the mine. Two-Bit knowing the outcome. Me, trying to do anything I can to stop it. I'm that desperate. I'm racked with pain and guilt. I've been like that for months. It feels like it's been forever. It's never gonna end. I know that now. This is how it is.

It was the hardest thing I had to do. To know my best friend is about to endure something horrible as having his leg blown off, and there ain't nothing I can do about it.

I have to take cover. I have to watch. I can't watch.

What if he dies? What then. What the hell do I do then!

We've been through the worse this place could throw at us. Two-Bit's been the only person who's stopped me going over the edge.

I hear it, the sickening sound. I see Two-Bit fall. I'm screaming. I'm trying to get to him. I'm fighting off two people, maybe more.

 _Let the medic tend to him, Curtis! You ain't much good to him. Especially like this! Larry's yelling at me._

His words must have penetrated the screaming in my head. I sink to the ground, pulling my legs to my chest and burying my face in my knees.

I haven't moved since.

I'm done. I can't think. I can't feel.

I don't know how much time has passed. Two-Bit's gone. He could be dead. Not dead, part of me reasons. But he is gone. He ain't coming back here.

No one is.

I've lost everyone.

A dark hole threatens to consume me.

All I hear are the whispers.

 _Radio a huey to come and get him out._

 _We need him here._

 _Well he ain't much good like this, is he?_

I feel a hand on my shoulder. Someone is saying my name. Curtis. Curtis. Curtis. It carries away on the wind. I let it take me too.

I'm sitting on steps at the back of the church looking out across the valley. _I can see for miles, see the ribbon of highway and the small dots that were the cars and houses._ The lower valley is covered in mist. Pieces of it break off and float away in small clouds. The clouds change from grey to pink, and the mist is touched with red. The sun melts into the ground.

The sky falls.

Blood is all around me. I'm gonna drown in it. I am drowning.

 _They've gone too far. A red haze fills my mind … I'm dying … I don't want to die._

Next thing I know I'm coughing and gasping. I lay there, dazed and confused.

"Fucking hell, Curtis!"

I push myself up and lean against a tree, water is running down my face. _Johnny is standing in front of me_. _His eyes are wider than I've ever seen. I see the horror in them._

' _What have you done, Ponyboy?'_

' _I killed him,' I gasp. 'I killed a boy. I ain't sorry.' But I know I should be. 'I'm not gold, anymore,' I tell him. 'I am blood. I am death.'_

Someone roughly grabs me by the shoulders and yanks me to my feet. "Ponyboy! Snap out it!"

The valley vanishes before me. I'm not there. I'm in a jungle. Johnny's face is replaced with someone else's. I know this person.

"Larry," I manage to croak.

Relief washes over his face.

"Welcome back to the land of insanity," he mutters.

It all comes back to me. Hit's me full on, like someone has thrust a hand through my chest and ripped my heart out.

"Two-Bit," I manage to say, fighting the dizziness. "This can't be happening. This can't be …"

I feel bile rise up in my throat.

"He's gonna be all right," Larry tells me.

I'm shivering, uncontrollably. "But h-his … leg. I-I …"

"Yeah, he lost the bottom part of his leg, but the rest of him is fine. He passed out from the shock, but he was beginning to wake up when they got him in the huey."

Tears stream down my face. I don't bother to wipe them away. I don't care who sees. I'm not that tough, only when I had to be. Then it was an act. I can't act anymore.

I'm just sobbing; useless.

"They're gonna radio a huey to come and get ya," Larry continues.

For the first time I look up and straight at him. I suddenly realise that I don't want to get on the huey. And do what? What if they lock me up? What if I go crazy and there is no one to snap me out of it, like Larry or Two-Bit. I'm suddenly terrified of losing it again. The vestiges of the dream, hallucination, or whatever it's called leaves me rattled.

"No!"

I belong here. I need to stay with the platoon, not get put in some loony bin. I need to stick with what I know.

"I'm okay, I'm okay now."

Larry doesn't look convinced. "I gotta keep busy." I hastily wipe my tears away. "You get it."

He does. I see it in his eyes. He nods.

"You've got five days left out here and then you'll get a couple of days R&R. Think you can last that long, Curtis?"

He shoves my helmet into my hands. I take it from him and put it on my head.

"Yes."

Though who the hell knows, I don't. I don't know what I'm doing. I just gotta keep moving. That's all I know.

"Then you can go see Two-Bit. He should be over the worst of it."

I nod. It's about all I can manage. And over the worst of it, does Larry really believe that? There is no getting over this. He had his fucking leg blown off. And it's all my fault. He's only here because of me. He should have stayed at home. Anger, pain and a sense of hopelessness sweeps over me. My throat aches as I fight to repress the tears.

Don't think about. _Just don't think about it. Grab your rifle and get moving. Two-Bit's tough. He'll get through this._

* * *

Once back at camp, I find Two-Bit's stash of alcohol. I grab the bottle of Jack Daniel's. No one even tries to stop me.

I sit out in the open air, taking deep swigs from the bottle. I feel the alcohol burn as it goes down. I like the feel of it. It's the only thing I feel. I smoke one cigarette after another. I keep expecting Two-Bit to sit down next to me. He'll ask if I've sent a letter home to Darry and Soda. He'll pick up my packet of smokes and take one. We'll sit there is silence for a bit, puffing away, before he'll say. _'I don't know about you, but I'm gonna get wasted.'_

' _Yeah. I think I'm gonna get wasted too.'_

No marijuana for me tonight, I'm too worried it'll send me over the edge. It messes with my mind too much, whereas alcohol just numbs everything. And that's what I want. I want to forget.

* * *

The five days pass by in a blur. I don't know who I am. Without Two-Bit to anchor me, I feel wild and full of rage. I'll shoot at the enemy without any remorse. We have only two skirmishes, but I want more. I just want to keep on shooting the bastards. It feels good letting the rage take hold.

In the evenings I smoke and drink and feel empty inside. I feel as if everything fine in me has gone to rot. I no longer carry the photo of me and Soda in my shirt pocket. I can't bring myself to look at it. I'm not that kid anymore. In fact I haven't looked at myself in a mirror for months. I have a small mirror that shows enough so I can shave. Sometimes I tilt the mirror a bit too far upwards and catch the scar on my face. But that's not why I don't want to look at myself. The scar doesn't bother me. I just can't bring myself to see my eyes. I can't look into my own eyes knowing what I am, what I've become. As if I have to preserve some inner part of myself and not expose it to the horrors here. Or maybe it's because I hate what I am.

* * *

We don't even make it to five days. On the fourth day, our Lieutenant steps on a bouncing Betty mine and blows himself up along with injuring five other soldiers in close vicinity to him. Me being one of them.

At first I don't hear anything. Next thing I know, I find myself flying backwards before crashing to the ground. I'm just lying there dazed, winded and staring up at the sky. I'm thinking it's not raining anymore. Because that's all it did for months. And it's Christmas day tomorrow. I'd forgotten.

The ringing in my ears subsides and is replaced by screams. Then the pain hits. That's always the worst part. The screaming and the pain. It feels like a dozen knifes piercing into the right side of my body, I think ' _not again'_. I screw my eyes shut, too scared to open them, too scared with what I'll see. I've seen enough mutilated bodies. I don't want to see my own.

 _It's all right. I'm gonna be all right,_ I keeping telling myself. _Just rationalise. Just think. Think, Ponyboy_.

Someone is at my side, calling my name. I recognize Larry's voice. He's all right. He must be, because I know he was not far behind me.

I open my eyes, and his face appears before me.

"Jesus Christ." I hear the desperation in his voice. "Talk to me, Curtis."

I swallow. "Any missing parts?"

That wasn't meant to be funny, but he smiles, or maybe it's more like a grimace.

"Arms and legs are still attached," he mutters. "But you're bleeding like a stuck pig."

Okay, that's something right? Still got arms and legs, guess that's why they hurt so much. Especially my arm and my hand. I try to move it, but a fiery pain shoots up my arm making me cry out.

"Just hold on, Pony. Medic will be here soon. I'll do the best I can till he gets here."

Most of us are trained in some form of basic first aid. We carry bandages in our packs, tourniquets and scissors for cutting away clothes in a hurry if need be, which is what Larry's doing. Cutting away the trouser leg of my right thigh. I see him grab for a bandage.

"How bad?"

I'm surprisingly calm.

"I've seen a lot worse, pretty deep gash from shrapnel."

He lifts my leg and hastily wraps a bandage around it. It's not too bad, my mind reasons. I try to sit up, but the pain in my chest stops me. I suddenly feel like I'm on fire. Beads of sweat dot my forehead and I clamp my jaw if an effort not to cry out. I slump back to the ground, my breathing coming out in short, pained breathes.

"What is it, Curtis?" I hear Larry demand.

"Chest …" I grimace.

I feel him rip open my shirt. I see the horrified expression on his face. "Fuck!" is all he says.

That can't be good. Panic takes hold. "What?" I gasp.

Larry shakes his head. "It's shrapnel pieces embedded in your chest, and a lot of them. Don't move."

I'm not about to go anywhere. My head is buzzing. I try to fight back the rising panic, because I don't feel like I'm in too bad shape. Not unless there is a gaping hole in my chest or something, but wouldn't I already be dead by now if there was one? I hear Larry calling for a medic.

My heart starts pumping, I can hear it pounding in my ears. I'm not gonna die. I'm not dying here.

The medic is at my side inspecting the damage. I have to know. "How bad?"

"Hard to tell, you've got shrapnel pieces lodged in your waist and chest. We won't know if it's done any damage till we get you back to the hospital. I can give you some morphine for the pain. Just hold tight, Curtis."

The morphine is a blessed relief. The worse of the pain seeps away. I feel drowsy and calm once again.

After that everything is pretty much a blur. I vaguely remember being put in the huey. I remember Larry telling me to hold on. I remember being wheeled down a long corridor. I remember masks and green coats and then nothing.

* * *

The next thing I recall is the beeping of a machine. My mouth feels like saw dust. I feel like a mummy, all bandaged up.

"Ponyboy Curtis," someone speaks. "That's an unusual name."

"My father thought it was original," I manage to reply.

I force my heavy eyelids open.

"Then he'll be very relieved to know you are going to be okay."

My gaze rests on her face. "He's dead." I say in a detached voice that doesn't sound like me.

She looks contrite. "I'm sorry."

She has pretty eyes. I want to say more, but I'm confused.

"Where … am .. I?"

"You're in recovery. Do you remember the mine blast?"

It all comes back to me. The pain, the screams and Larry trying to fix me. The medic telling me about the shrapnel.

"How bad?" I ask.

"They removed about 14 pieces of shrapnel from the right side of your body. Miraculously, not one of them pierced any major arteries or damaged internal organs."

She smiles. "You were lucky."

Turning my head I glance down at my right hand which is bandaged from the tips of my fingers to top of my arm.

"One of the pieces shattered your hand and you have fractures to your 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th ribs."

Okay, so that's not too bad, I reason.

"They operated on your hand and had to fix up some tendon damage in your thigh. And apart from having a lot of stitches you will be okay."

"Do I get to go home?" I ask.

She shakes her head, looking sad. "You'll be out of action for six to eight weeks, but you should be fit enough to be sent back into battle."

I think it has to be a joke. I do the maths in my head and count 42 days, with 85 days left that still leaves me with 43 days. I would laugh if it didn't hurt so much from the broken ribs.

After all this, and I'm still not gonna get home.

* * *

I hear the word _'lucky'_ mentioned several times as I'm wheeled from recovery into a ward. I'm beginning to lose how many times I've been told that now. I lie in bed wondering why … why do I keep getting to live and will my luck run out before I ever get home.

It's funny but I don't feel the rage anymore. I just feel empty - flat - like I'm never gonna feel like I once used to be able to. Things like feeling happy and laughing again, a proper laugh, like I used to do with Soda. We'd roll around on the ground laughing about the most stupid things. I don't cry even though I hurt. The whole side of my right body is throbbing, but it won't last. I'll heal.

I got lucky after all. Lucky enough to go fight another day, go kill some more. Maybe Two-Bit is the lucky one in the end. He'll get to go home.

He won't have to crawl through jungles, fight gooks and wonder if today will be his last day.

* * *

I've only been out of surgery for a couple of hours and I drift in and out of sleep. I dimly wonder where Two-Bit is. I'm surprised he hasn't been giving the nurses a hard time to see me.

Then I remember.

Two-Bit had his leg blown off.

He ain't here. I don't know where he is, but I want to see him so badly.

"Fuck me, Ponyboy!" I hear him exclaim. "You're the luckiest son of a bitch out there."

God, I must be so desperate to see him that I'm hearing his voice now.

I open my eyes. He's there - right next to my bed, and I have to be hallucinating.

"Two-Bit?" I croak.

Tears fill his eyes. "You look like hell, kid."

I see he's in a wheel chair which means I'm not hallucinating? He's here. He's really here. My eyes wander down to his legs. His left leg is swathed in bandages just above where his knee used to be. I guess nothing can prepare me for the reality of what's happened. This messed up state we are in.

Tears stream down my face. The accumulation of everything that has happened in the last five days hits me. I'm just so damned relieved to see him.

"Don't, Ponyboy," Two-Bit says in a hoarse voice. "Don't cry, because ya just gonna get me going. I've shed enough tears in this place."

I swallow and try to stop the tears, but they keep coming.

"It's all right Ponyboy," Two-Bit softly says. "Hell, it's just half a leg. I still got the other one and a lot of guys in here don't."

His eyes, bright with unshed tears, quietly assess me. "Right now you look worse off than I do."

"Not bad enough to get a ticket home though," I murmur. "Just mostly cut up from the shrapnel."

Two-Bit swears under his breath. It's oddly comforting.

"The busted ribs and hand will keep me out for a good six weeks. That's something, right?"

He shakes his head. I'm amazed he's here. That he's mobile. It's only been five days.

"You can get around?" I ask, even if it's in a wheel chair.

"With sheer will. It ain't easy, hurts like hell but I hate staying in bed. When I heard the nurses talking about a bunch of causalities just come in, they mentioned names I knew, names from our platoon and then I heard Curtis." He runs a hand through his air, his face darkening. "After that I asked them a dozen questions and I told them I wouldn't shut the hell up until I saw you."

He manages a grim smile. "Here I am."

I look at him with renewed admiration. He's tough. I've always known this, just not how much. He's assessing me again, a concerned look on his face.

"Get some sleep, Pony. You look exhausted. I'll be around for a few more days before we all get evacuated to Japan. Hell, at least we get to leave this dump of a place."

I nod, feeling exhausted.

* * *

Knowing Two-Bit is going to be all right and having him here affords me some peace of mind. The first I've had in a while. I sleep soundly for the first two days. By day three I'm feeling remotely human again. Everything still hurts, just not as much apart from the ribs and hand.

Out of the six of us caught up in the blast, I'm the less injured. I find out that Lieutenant Webb was killed instantly. Private Jones died from his injuries in the hospital. I didn't know him that well. He'd only be in Vietnam for a month. One month and he was dead already. Private George Benning had lost both of his legs. He's been here the same length of time I have. He likes to talk a lot, I think because he was shit scared most of the time. I feel bad for him. He's a good guy. I haven't had a chance to see him yet.

I'm struggling with getting around from the injury to my thigh. They give me a crutch to hobble around with. I know that I will be able to walk fine in a couple of weeks but right now trying to move around hurts like hell. I'm also handicapped by the broken ribs and my right hand was put in a plaster cast from the tips of my fingers to halfway up my arm. Every day they change the dressings to my numerous lacerations. They've put me on heavy duty antibiotics to stop infection from happening. Infections in wounds from shrapnel is common.

But I still got off lightly. Sergeant Jenkins suffered abdominal injuries. How bad I don't know. Private Bell had numerous lacerations like me, but unlike me, he lost an arm.

I try to rationalize it in my head. I was right alongside Lachie Bell. Yet he got it worse than me. Was it because of the way my body was turned? Maybe I was more side on? Or, was it the way the mine exploded and how the shrapnel flew out? After a while I have to stop thinking about it before I go crazy.

I think of Darry and Soda a lot in those first few days. I wonder if they've be told about my injuries. Though maybe not. I remember not ticking the box on my first day of basic training about informing next of kin each and every time I suffered an injury. I could just imagine my brother tearing his hair out and worrying all of the time. I didn't want to put him through that.

I think about how I haven't seen my brothers for nine months. Nine months is like years. I totally forgot about Christmas day too. It's been and gone. I remember the last Christmas and the camera Soda had brought me. It's stashed away in my duffle bag, along with the photo of me and Soda. It's probably all lost now. I should have kept the photo in my shirt pocket. Now I find myself wanting to look at the photo again, to see Soda's face. To see something intact and innocent, not hardened by war, not damaged by booby traps and mimes. Because that's all I see in the hospital; lots of young mutilated men.

* * *

Just like Two-Bit had told me, we were evacuated to one of the main Army hospitals based in Japan on New Year's Eve. Two-Bit and I, along with a number of other injured soldiers, are flown out there. Two-Bit is to stay there for two weeks before being flown back to the states. I am there till I recover enough from my injuries to be sent back to Vietnam.

"If you'd lost your hand they'd have to send you home," Two-Bit mutters on the flight to Japan. "Can't fire a rifle one handed."

I frown. Glad to still have my hand, although he has a point.

"I'm right handed. How would I write?"

"With your other hand."

"My hand writing is bad enough with my right hand, it's gonna be unreadable with my left."

We often have conversations like this. Two-Bit talks about what kind of fake leg he'll get. We skirt around the edges of our deepest pain.

"If you get eight weeks off, it'll be so close to your return home, maybe the doctor will find a way to keep you out. I hear they do that sometimes."

Yeah, and I've heard them doing the opposite too. I know it bugs Two-Bit no end that they could send me back out into battle again.

"Haven't we done fucking enough?" he mutters.

I hear the raw pain and anger in his voice. We try not to go there, but sometimes we do.

"How much more do we gotta lose before they'll stop?"

My heart thumps painfully in my chest. Tears burn at the back of my eyes. We are still so raw and so damaged.

"I won't fucking let them make you go back," Two-Bit continues. "I'll find a way to stop it."

I know he can't. But I don't tell him that. I don't say anything. What's the point?

* * *

Japan is hell pretty from what I can see of it in the bus. Buses are fitted out for patients who can sit and patients that need stretchers. The thing that strikes me the most is that there is no mesh wire around them.

People walk along the streets without a care in the world. Everything is so clean. The air is cold and crisp. There is no fear. There is no stench here, no smell of napalm.

I haven't noticed much of anything of late, not colors, not sunsets or sunrises. None of that matters anymore. But for the first time in a while I'm not afraid. This is my first time out of Vietnam. It's my first time glimpsing a normal world again after nine months.

I can't absorb it all. Even Two-Bit is subdued. After a time he finally speaks, summing up what all of us feel.

"I can't believe I'm out of that hell hole."

* * *

Once at Camp Sama we are medically assessed, issued a clean pair of blue hospital pajamas and assigned to wards according to our injuries. I'm sitting on a bed, semi-naked in just my boxer shorts, in the clinical room. The nurse has removed the dressings from my chest and waist. The doctor inspects the wounds, asking me a pile of questions I've already been asked many times.

He tells me how lucky I am. Yeah, I've heard that countless time too. Tell me something I don't know. I'm getting sick of hearing it. I can't see what the big deal is about. Why everyone feels they have to tell me how lucky I am whenever they see my wounds.

It isn't until I see it for myself that I get it.

The nurse and the doctor have left the room for a moment. I'm all alone. I notice the mirror. Curiosity gets the better of me. Crabbing the crutch I hobble over to the mirror. For the first time in months I look at myself. What I see shocks me. The pallor of my skin, the dark circles under my eyes and all those stitches. My stomach churns. I'm like a patchwork quilt. There are so many stitches to my chest, down around my waist that I can't even begin to count them all. Then there is the bruising, I'm black and blue down the whole side of my body. How the hell did I survive this?

"Fuck," I mutter.

My face is unaffected, but there is a deep gash to the right side of my head which has also been stitched up. They'd shaved around the affected area. Now I have a bald patch where the wound runs from the top of my right temple to the base of my skull.

What strikes me the most is how painfully thin I am. I've always been thin, but now - I'm just … my ribs stick out. Every bone protrudes through my skin. I look … I look like the empty shell I know I've become.

It's just as well Darry can't see me, I dully think. He'd kill me. He'd … he'd be lecturing me … he'd be blaming himself like he always does, like he could protect me from this. _"How?!"_ I'd yell at him. _"You can't save me. You can't stop this. You can't stop the war. You can't stop soldiers getting blown up, getting blown into pieces. You can't protect me!'_

My legs begin to turn to jelly. Spots swim before my eyes. The crutch crashes to the ground. I reach out a hand to grab onto something, anything I can find.

"What are you doing?" I hear the nurse exclaim as she rushes to my side.

She catches me before I go falling to the ground.

"I-I had to see."

Hell, it's not that bad when looking at the larger scheme of it all. Sure I had hundreds of stitches to sew up the damage left by the shrapnel, but it would heal. I'll have scars but they'll fade with time. It's not like I'm missing body parts, not like I'm burned beyond recognition. There's no excuse or reason to cry. But I want to weep all the same. How can I ever be the same? I don't just mean physically, but mentally too – mostly that.

The nurse makes me lie down on the bed. My head stops spinning. The doctor returns to the room.

"There's two things that concern me, son," he says.

He must be in his late 50's. He looks so old, or maybe it's because I've not seen anyone his age that often anymore.

"Your weight and the damage done to your hand."

He sits down on a stool next to the bed.

"Have you been eating over there?"

Have you ever tasted the food over there? I feel like asking but I don't. I just nod.

"Your weight when you enlisted was 145 pounds, which is still too lean for your height." There is a serious expression on his face. I've just had a good look for myself. I know how bad it is.

"You currently weigh 110 pounds."

Okay, that's bad. I've lost like 35 pounds. Darry won't be happy. Not that he can see me, just as well. I look awful. I wouldn't want anyone from home to see me like this.

"Before you leave here you'll need to gain 30 pounds."

That'll make Two-Bit happy. Finally a way to keep me here longer.

"Your hand," the doctor continues. "Is probably going to need another operation if the bones are not set correctly. We'll take an x-ray in a week's time to determine its progress. As for now. Rest and eat to gain your strength."

He has a kind face. For a moment it makes me think of my dad, I don't know why. I'm starting to feel strung out. A pain resides in my chest, a deep pain, like the grief I felt directly after my parents had died. And suddenly I miss them more now than I ever have done.

I wish they were here. I wish for my Mom's comforting touch. She would know what to do, what to say. She always did. Tears fill my eyes. I fight them back.

"I take if you've seen the extent of the sutures to your body?"

I nod again. It's all I can manage.

"At this stage there is no sign of infection, which is a good thing. The wounds will heal but the scarring will be intensive. They will fade with time."

I blink and swallow the lump in my throat. He rests a hand on my shoulder giving it a light squeeze.

"Everything will get better with time, Ponyboy. Count yourself lucky."

I still have to get home yet. I'll count myself lucky when that happens.

* * *

I'm placed in a large twenty bed ward with soldiers who have similar injuries to myself. Not critical, just here to heal and mend like me before they fly us back to Vietnam again to fight another day. I don't know where Two-Bit is. I'll go looking for him in a little while, when I'm feeling up to it. For now I just want to rest.

I lie listlessly on the uninjured side of my body. Maybe I should read a book. It's been a while. But I don't have the mental energy for it. Besides, I don't have my reading glasses.

Two-Bit finds me in the end. He's become pretty adept at using the wheel chair. Soon I'll get to use crutches, he tells me. He _fucking hates the chair_ , his words exactly.

I'm lying there feeling sorry for myself without any real just cause. He's missing a leg and not only manages to find me but is waving a packet of cigarettes in front of me.

My eyes widen. "Where'd you get that?"

He grins. "I have my ways."

I drag myself into a sitting position and quickly glance around the room to see if any of the nurses have noticed.

* * *

I push Two-Bit along in the wheel chair, even though he can do it himself, I need something to hold onto when I walk. We find a recreation room and I light up a cigarette. The first I've had in days. Probably the first for Two-Bit in even longer than that.

It goes to my head but it feels good.

"Man, I've missed this," Two-Bit mutters, glancing down at the cigarette. "I haven't had a drink in a week."

I don't tell him I drank all of his stash. Not that it matters. He'd understand. He glances my way.

"What did the doc say to you?"

"I have to gain 30 pounds."

He coughs, smoke swirling around his head.

"Before they'll let me go back," I add.

He smiles, looking pleased. "You wanna take ya merry time with it then."

I manage a brief smile back.

"But you wanna make sure you put that weight on, Ponyboy, because right now you look some POW that's not been fed for six months.

I grimace. "Thanks, slight exaggeration."

"Darry would have a fit if he saw you now."

"Just as well he ain't here."

"You gonna let him know what's happened to you?"

I hold up my injured hand. "Not sure how, I can't write."

I see the determined glint in Two-Bit's eyes.

"I'll write it for you."

I know there is no getting out of it. He's like a dog with a bone. Darry and Soda will have to know, I'd just rather it be later than sooner.

"Yeah, okay, just not right now."

My head isn't in the right space.

"What about you?" I begin. "What did the doc say to you?"

He drags back on the cigarette deeply. I guess he's mentally preparing himself to give the lighter version on what he has to say, so as not to worry me.

"I'll be here for about two weeks, he reckons. After that they'll fly me back home. Not directly home, not for a while. I'll spend several months at some Army base hospital in Oklahoma having rehabilitation."

I know he's in for a long haul. I feel like shit all over again.

"Shouldn't have done it," I mutter, stubbing the cigarette butt out in the ashtray. I can't bring myself to look at him.

"Don't start with that crap, Ponyboy."

I hear the annoyance in his voice. "And look at me when you tell me that. We're in this together, and we are both getting home no matter what state we're in."

"I know," I murmur and meet his fiercely determined gaze.

I'll never be able to repay what he has sacrificed for me.

"I'm resilient," he continues in a lighter tone of voice. "I'll probably be back home before you and kicking you with my fake leg to knock sense into you."

A half smile crosses my face. "Yeah, I need it from time to time."

* * *

My strength does improve over the next week along with my frame of mind. I know it's because Two-Bit is here with me and a couple of our platoon buddies. Lachie Bell is in the same ward as Two-Bit along with George Benning, who'd lost both his legs. We spend many hours around George's bed, playing cards, trying to boast our morale. Trying to help each other forget the horror of what happened. Seeing George and Lachie day to day puts my own injuries into perspective. I'm not going to have to go through the extensive rehabilitation they will. I did get off lightly.

I do end up having to have another operation to my hand to re-set bones and place screws to hold bones together, which will lengthen my time here, meaning less time back in Vietnam.

This also makes Two-Bit happy.

He hasn't forgotten about writing the letter either. We sit down in the rec room to write it.

 _Darry and Soda_

 _I'm writing this on Ponyboy's behalf. And before you all start stressing out, Pony is okay. Well he was caught up in a mine blast, but he's going to be fine. He just busted some ribs and his right hand, which is why I'm writing for him, and he got cut up a bit from the shrapnel. We're both in Japan at an Army hospital. Man, the food is so good here. You can't believe the crap we had to eat in Vietnam._

 _You've probably heard about me losing my leg by now, or maybe not. I stepped on_ a _chicom jumper mine and it blew off the bottom half of my leg. They're sending me home in a weeks' time, but Pony will be staying here as his injuries are not severe enough for him to get sent home. Fuck that bullshit. I'm not happy. Hopefully he'll get to spend what's left of his tour in Japan._

 _Pony says he misses you all and he'll be home soon. Only 78 days to go. He'll write when he's able to. He doesn't want you to worry. I can't say more about his state of being or this letter won't reach you. He's glaring at me now. I'll end it here._

 _Two-Bit and Ponyboy sends his love._

Two-Bit gets the letter away before I can get hold of him. He can move quicker in the wheel chair than I can hobble along. I let him go in the end. I can just picture Darry bombarding him with a million questions. That'll be fun for him, I muse. He'll be sorry he added that last bit about my state of being. He doesn't know Darry as well I do.

* * *

The day Two-Bit has to leave comes around all too quickly. It's the same day that I get my stitches removed, which takes hours. Well if feels like hours.

Two-Bit is insistent that I let him see how bad it is, despite my protests. In the end I give in to shut him up. I lift my top up and I let him see.

Tears fill his eyes. "Fuck that, Pony," he hisses. "They can't send you back to Nam like that."

"It's just skin," I tell him, gingerly lowering my top. And it's true.

"Nah, it's a fucking reminder on how close you came to dying," he states.

He rakes a hand through his hair in agitation. "Jesus, Pony. If they send you back, you don't play hero. You don't do anything. You lay low and you just survive. You hear me!"

My breath catches in my throat at the raw emotion I see in his eyes. I tell him I'll try my best to survive.

"And when that hand of yours is better, you write to me every day and no bull shitting with me like you do with Darry and Soda. I know what it's like out here. I know what really goes on."

* * *

When he's gone, I find a quiet corner in the back of a dusty library where no one can see me. My hand trembles as I raise a cigarette to my lips. I feel more alone than ever, like someone has switched the light off inside, leaving me in total darkness.

"72 days," I mutter, drawing back on the cigarette.

I feel for the small six ounce bottle of bourbon in my trouser pocket. I open the lid and take a deep swig. It burns as it goes down.

' _Where'd you get that?'_ I imagine Two-Bit asking.

' _I have my ways too,'_ I tell him.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Love to hear what people think. The next two chapters will run parallel to each other in time. One from Ponyboy's experience of his last 72 days in the war and the other from Two-Bit's experience once back home, along with his rehabilitation. I can't promise I'll get another chapter up within two weeks, but I'll try.

Thanks for reading!

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	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! It's very rewarding to see the reviews increase chapter by chapter. I'm on a roll with this story presently, hence chapters being uploaded in shorter time. Which I'm sure is making all of you followers out there very happy! Your reviews certainly encourage me!

This chapter is from Soda's POV, and starts with the day they hear about Two-Bit being wounded in action, which means time wise it begins a couple of weeks prior to where the last chapter left off. Unlike today, no mobile phones and letters would have taken several weeks to go back and forth.

Ignore any errors, or let me know so I can go back and fix them. I don't have a lot of time with marking and school reports due. Over here in Australia we are nearly at the end of the school year which means us teachers are pretty exhausted. Like Pony, I count down the days.

That being said. Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 18.**_

* * *

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December has been bitterly cold. For the first time in my life I dread Christmas day. Ponyboy won't be here. It'll be my first Christmas without him. Darry and I go about our daily lives, but we struggle with the thought of Ponyboy being at war. It's the not knowing that eats away at us. I miss him, especially when at home. I keep expecting him to walk through the door, yanking at his tie in his haste to dispense of it. I know he doesn't particularly like working at the bank. I think my brother should have gone to College like Darry insisted. But Ponyboy can be stubborn. When his mind is set it's hard to change it. All though, out of everyone, I was best at getting him to change it. I was good at reasoning with him, unlike Darry, who'd use yelling as a means. With Pony, yelling at him only made him dig his heels in harder. I knew what made my little brother tick, how to get around him.

I often find myself standing in the doorway to Pony's bedroom, expecting to find him sitting back on his bed, nose buried in a book. We'd talk about work. Him about stuffy clients that kept complaining, and me, about demanding customers. We'd laugh, rile each other before Darry started hollering for us to shut up and help with dinner.

The last year has been – awful. I feel like I'm missing a big part of myself. Maybe half. Probably the better half.

Every morning I stare at the calendar and will the days to go by faster.

I work longer hours at the gas station. Work keeps me distracted. I like it when I'm busy, the busier the better. I can't remember the last time I took a day off.

At night I lay in bed worrying about him. I try not to resent Two-Bit going to Nam with Ponyboy, but I do. It should have been me. Ponyboy is my brother. I'm the one he looked up to and adored. I remember coming home from school to find Pony waiting for me on the front steps. His eyes would light up when he'd see me and the biggest grin would cross his face. I remember his first day at school, giving him all sorts of advice on what to do to fit in. Pony was so shy. I always felt I had to protect him. He was always lost in a book, always talking about characters and places and one day he'd want to go there. And if he wasn't daydreaming about faraway places he was getting lost in a sunset. That's how I remember him. Pure and innocent, but alive inside in a way most people weren't.

Now he was gone, fighting in a war he shouldn't be in. I dread what will happen to him. I fear he'll change and lose sight of what he was. I know my brother. I know he's just ain't cut out for what he's going to have to face and do. I guess nobody really is, but Pony – he's sensitive.

My heart feels heavy. It's as if someone has zapped all of the happiness out of me. All I can do is wait. And pray he'll come home safely, that we will get back what we used to have.

* * *

I recognize Two-Bit's mom's car pull into the gas station late that afternoon. If Christmas is hard for us, I can only imagine how difficult it'll be for her. Normally she's chatty when I see her. Two-Bit writes to her often. _'Cheers me up,'_ she tells me. I wish Pony's letters cheered me up, but they don't. They only make me worry even more. Mostly because he doesn't say much in them. Unlike at the start of his tour, his letters were informative and more upbeat then. Now they are pretty stock standard. _Not much to write about. Every day is the same here. I just count down the days till I come home._

He didn't even write to tell us about his concussion. We learned about that from Two-Bit. I was annoyed he didn't tell us himself. Maybe he didn't want to worry us but why would it? If anything it would reassure us that's he's being open to what was happening to him and dealing with it. We know he ain't always gonna get out unscathed in every skirmish. We expect that. A concussion isn't that serious. I've had at least two myself from rumbles.

I know my brother. I know he has a tendency to bottle things up inside. But eventually he'd tell me what was bugging him. I want to know where his head is at. I want to know if he is okay, and I get the feeling he isn't. There's nothing I can do about it either. He's another whole world away, out of my reach. I've never felt so powerless. And it's killing me.

I expect Ms Mathews to open her car door when I approach, as she always does, but she's just sitting there with the window still wound up.

I tap on the window, but she doesn't appear to hear it. She's staring directly in front of her and not moving. Now I'm getting concerned. I feel my stomach tense up.

I tap louder on the window. "Mrs Mathews."

She turns her head and looks at me. I see the pain etched in the lines bracketing her mouth. Something is drastically wrong.

"Are you all right?" I ask, fearing the worse.

Fuck, not Two-Bit. He better not be dead. We live in fear of this. Hoping this day never arrives.

She slowly winds down the window and without a word she hands me a telegram. I feel my heart leap into my throat as I read it.

 _Mrs. A. Mathews, The Secretary of the Army has asked me to inform you that your son, Private Keith Mathews was wounded in action in the vicinity of Thua Thien, Republic of Vietnam on 21 December 1970 by fragments while on a combat operation when a booby trap detonated._

Steel bands wrap around my chest, making it hard to breathe. I stand there shocked for a moment, unable to move. The telegram is so official and cold. There is no other information given.

I don't know what to say. I feel icy cold all over. Two-Bit was wounded in action – how bad? That's better than being dead, right? How serious are his injuries? By fragments when a booby trap detonated. That doesn't sound good. What about Ponyboy? Was Pony with him? Was Ponyboy injured too?

"When did you get this?" I ask, the blood rushing to my ears.

"Today," she murmurs, they came around to the house and gave me the telegram with some bullshit words about Keith …" her voice breaks off there. "They say sorry." She gives a pained bitter laugh. "I regret to inform you …"

Tears are streaming down her face. She looks so wretched, and so much older since I last saw her.

"It's the not knowing that's the worst thing," she sniffs, "I don't know how much he is hurting … I can't … do … anything."

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I'm sorry Mrs Mathew's." It hardly seems adequate. But I can't find the words.

Suddenly I'm filled with a sense of urgency. I have to get home. I have to know. I have to know that Ponyboy is okay and not injured too – or worse – dead.

Without saying anything more, I turn and run for home.

I sprint the whole way back to the house.

If he dies, I don't know what I'll do. I try not to think about it. Life surely couldn't that cruel. I lost my parents, what else can it take from me?

I keep expecting the worst when I get home and dreading it. What if there is an officer waiting. Darry will still be at work for hours. I'll be alone. I couldn't handle taking bad news on my own.

When I get home, I'm horribly out of breath. Dragging in pain filled breaths of air. There is no officer waiting, and I collapse in a heap on the front steps of the house.

I'm sobbing by this stage, nothing new for me. I wish Darry was here. We share each other's pain and worry. This year has been the worst ever, only second to losing my parents, maybe even worse. Because Pony's not dead, but he could be, he could die any day.

I keep having these dreams where I'm trying to get to a place I don't know, Ponyboy needs me. I should never have left him alone. But no matter what I do, or how much I run I can never find him. I then wake up in a cold sweat and cry myself back to sleep.

After I've calmed down. I find a packet of cigarettes that I have stashed away for emergency occasions, or just because I feel like it from time to time.

I sit on the front porch smoking, drinking beer and waiting for Darry to come home. I'm supposed to cook tonight, but dinner is the furthest thing from my mind.

* * *

Darry's truck pulls up in the driveway. I watch him get out of the truck. I watch him take the steps up the front porch. I see the frown denting his forehead when he spies the cigarette in my hand.

"You're smoking …" he begins then his voice breaks off there as a realization takes hold. The expression on my face is a dead giveaway.

"Ponyboy …" he begins in a hoarse voice.

I can already see he's fearing the worse, mentally gearing himself up for it.

"Ponyboy is okay as far as I know." At least I can give that reassurance. Apart from the 'far as I know' bit.

Darry's shoulders sag. He's aged a lot in this last year. He just continues to grow old before his time and I hate it. He's 25 going on 40. He's carried the burden of responsibility since he was 19, without anyone to help or teach him how to do that, bringing up two teenage kids. And then having Ponyboy taken away from us. It's killing him as much as it's killing me.

"It's Two-Bit," I continue, taking a deep breath. "He's been wounded in action."

I let the words sink in as the shock settles on Darry's face. He collapses on the sofa alongside of me. Neither one of us speak. What is there to be said?

Eventually I find something.

"Don't know how badly, telegram never said, only that he was wounded by fragments during a combat operation from a booby trap."

Darry's jaw clenches as a pained expression fixes itself on his face. My hand shakes as I bring the cigarette up to my lips. I feel sick in the stomach.

"He better be okay," Darry mutters at length. "He has to be. Two-Bit's tough."

Steve car pulls up in the driveway. He's scowling as he climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

"Where did you go?!" he demands. "You just took off, left me with everything."

He storms up the path, stopping on the front steps. His eyes dart from me to Darry. His scowl is replaced with sudden concern. I speak before he gets the chance.

"I saw Mrs Mathews," I begin in a halting voice. "Two-Bit's been wounded in action."

Steve swears under his breath, his eyes overly bright. "How bad?"

"We don't know. The telegram didn't say."

Every line in Steve's body is tense and taut. His face hardens with a mixture of anger and pain.

"Fuck that!" he explodes.

Turning around, he runs back to his car, gets in and drives off, his tires screeching. I know Steve needs to release emotion by driving at break neck speeds.

"He's gonna kill himself one of these days," Darry dully states.

The cigarette falls from my fingers. I'm gonna throw up. I can never handle my emotions, they just all burst out of me. I dash inside and manage to reach the toilet bowl in time as I empty the contents of my stomach.

* * *

Darry and I go about the motions of living, only we're not. The next few days drag by. I keep waiting for information that never comes. I don't know whether to feel relieved or not when it doesn't. That means Ponyboy has to be okay. But he's not with Two-Bit. How is he coping, because I know my brother, without Two-Bit he'll be … I can't bear to think about it.

I hate this war. I hate what it's done to us. I hate how it took my brother away. I hate how Two-Bit could be half dead for all we'd know and why hasn't Ponyboy written. How is he going to deal with something like this? And how bad off is Two-Bit? Two-Bit with his happy go lucky way and jokes. I can't imagine him being anything different. Just like I can't imagine Pony being anything but the dreamy kid I've always known.

* * *

Christmas Eve arrives along with a letter from Ponyboy. I tear it open soon as I retrieve it from the letter box. It's dated three days before Two-Bit would have been wounded. I can't help the disappointment. But a letter from Ponyboy is always a welcome treat. I think. I just wish he'd say more, write more.

 _Dear Darry and Soda_

 _Sorry I haven't written much lately. But there isn't much to write about. You'll be happy to know that we haven't seen much action of late. Each day is much the same, boring as hell. At least it isn't raining anymore. I count down the days till I come home. I miss you both a lot. I try not to think of home because it hurts when I do. I can't imagine home anymore, or maybe I don't want too. I'll probably think of it when I have less days to count. Don't worry about me. You know I have Two-Bit with me. He's still good for a laugh despite this hell hole of a place. I'm lucky to have him._

 _Take care._

 _Love always_

 _Ponyboy_

Tears fill my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. The letter crumples in my hand. How is Ponyboy going to cope without Two-Bit? God, I've asked that question every day, every hour of the day.

Storming inside, I find a pen and paper and start writing.

 _Dear Ponyboy_

 _We've heard about Two-Bit being wounded in action and Darry and I have been beside ourselves with worry. As usual the telegrams don't tell you anything other than he was wounded by fragments from a booby trap. What the hell does that mean? How bad is he? Is he going to be all right? You had to have been there with him. We were worried sick that something might have happened to you too. But so far we've received no telegram and that means that you have to be okay. Please tell me you are not hurt. I need to know how you are handling not having Two-Bit with you and how you're coping with it all._

 _I feel so useless here. We receive this news and can't do nothing about it._

 _You must write to me, you have to tell me everything. I need to know. Now isn't the time to clam up on me. You have to let me know the truth about your feelings, Pony. Don't be scared that'll you will make me and Darry worry, because we already do that every single day. If anything hearing more about you would give us peace of mind. And we need that, we really need it. So I'm begging you little brother to write to us!_

 _You know I'll love you always, no matter what._

 _Sodapop_

* * *

Christmas day arrives. We don't do anything. I don't think we even brought each other presents. We were too distracted by the thoughts of Ponyboy and Two-Bit. I wonder how they are spending Christmas day. Probably a lot more dismal than ours. I at least have Darry and Steve. Ponyboy will have no one, neither will Two-Bit. It makes me sick in the stomach thinking about it.

Last Christmas, Darry was making bacon and eggs for breakfast, there were Christmas carols playing on the radio. Now there is only silence and cold toast. The old cheap Christmas tree never got to see the light of day. I didn't bother putting any tinsel around the house. My heart just isn't in it.

Everywhere I look and turn there are painful memories of last Christmas. Ponyboy, deciding to put all the photo frames of mom and dad back to their rightful place. I was so proud of him. He really was beginning to grow up and mature.

I remember buying him the camera and the way his eyes glowed and misted over. At some point I have to shut the memories out; they hurt too much.

* * *

Darry and I sit on the sofa. _It's a Wonderful Life_ is playing on the television. It offers a distraction. Ponyboy used to love this movie as a kid, so did mom. I remember curling up on the sofa, watching it with them. Darry wasn't into it. I'm surprised he's sitting here watching it, but I don't think he's really focusing. We're just passing time. It sucks that everything is shut on Christmas day.

Steve rocks up with a six-pack of beer and a bottle of bourbon.

"What are ya all watching this shit for," he exclaims as he stomps into the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge.

"Not like there's anything else to do," I yell after his retreating back.

Next thing I know, I find a football thrown at my head.

"Yeah, there's this," Steve says, raising an eyebrow. "Let's go play ball."

It won't be the same without Pony and Two-bit, but we amble outside anyway. It's freezing, we can't really get into it. After twenty minutes we give up. I flop down on the sofa. Darry goes to check the turkey. Steve grabs a beer and returns to the lounge room. He pushes my legs off the sofa and plonks himself down next to me.

"Wish the kid was here. It ain't no fun anymore, no one to rile up," he mutters.

* * *

We decide to go pay Two-Bit's mom a visit. We take a box of chocolates and a present for Two-Bit's kid sister.

Mrs Mathew's has made eggnog, and I can tell she's been drinking. She's a bit tipsy.

She tells us she's holding up okay now. Two-Bit had sent her a telegram wishing her a merry Christmas and telling her he was all right. He had lost his leg, but apart from that he was fine. No other injuries.

I don't know how you can be fine with losing a leg, but it's Two-Bit. I know he'd sooner die than make his mom worry any more than she already is. I also know that Two-Bit is tough. I know he'll pull through this. Though it was still a shock to hear about him losing his leg. Yet, it's a relief to hear he is pulling through and okay. Because you never know just how bad it's gonna be.

I read the telegram. I tried to read between the lines but I ain't that smart. I'm hoping he mentions something about Ponyboy, but he doesn't.

After leaving Mrs Mathews house, we head home in silence. Steve swears under his breath.

"Fuck."

"Least Two-Bit's gonna be okay," I say, "He'll be home soon."

But Ponyboy won't be. Neither one of us say much on the drive home.

* * *

I write a letter as soon as I walk in the front door.

 _Dear Ponyboy_

 _Its Christmas day today but it sure don't feel like it without you here. Steve came over. As he always does. Even he's missing you. He's got no one to tease._

 _Sue had lunch with us and we had turkey. Do you hate turkey as much as you hate chicken? Or can you stomach it. They taste pretty much the same._

 _It snowed today. You would have loved it._

 _I hope you got to celebrate Christmas a bit. I'm sure you would have at least gotten a decent feed?_

 _How you holding up? It must suck for you without Two-Bit there. We went and saw his mom today. Two-Bit had sent a telegram to her. He said he'd lost his leg but he was okay. At least we know how badly wounded he is now. It was hell not knowing that. We're you with him when it happened? I keep thinking about it all the time. I can't imagine Two-Bit losing his leg, man that must have been horrible for him. I get so sick just thinking about it. And then I think about how you must have felt._

 _I just wish you were home with us. I keep thinking only three months away. Three months will go fast. Before you know it you'll be back here. Darry will have ya under lock and key no doubt. Won't let ya out of his sight._

 _Thinking of you always._

 _Love_

 _Sodapop_

* * *

I write to him every day from now on in. I don't know why. Maybe because it's the only way I can reach him, maybe just getting a letter from home every day will help him get through it. I don't say much in them. Just what I did that day. It's pretty boring.

New Year Eve comes around. We all get drunk, except Darry.

 _I can't believe its 1971_ , I write to Pony. _A start of a new year and not long till you come home now._

* * *

I cross the days off the new 1971 calendar in big black X's. First, second, third ...

I'm surprised to find Darry home before me. I find him sitting at the kitchen table, his face set in stone. I see a piece of paper in his hand. My heart falters for a moment. Then I realize it's a letter and not a telegram. I breathe of sigh of relief, although Darry's expression sets me on edge.

"Is it a letter from Ponyboy?" I ask, hopeful.

Darry blinks. "It's from Two-Bit," he begins, "Ponyboy's been hurt."

I snatch the letter out of Darry's hand.

 _I'm writing this on Ponyboy's behalf. And before you all start stressing out, Pony is okay. Well he was caught up in a mine blast, but he's going to be fine. He just busted some ribs and his right hand, which is why I'm writing for him, and he got cut up a bit from the shrapnel. We're both in Japan at an Army hospital. Man, the food is so good here. You can't believe the crap we had to eat in Vietnam._

 _You've probably heard about me losing my leg by now, or maybe not. I stepped on_ a _chicom jumper mine and it blew off the bottom half of my leg. They're sending me home in a weeks' time, but Pony will be staying here as his injuries are not severe enough for him to get sent home. Fuck that bullshit. I'm not happy. Hopefully he'll get to spend what's left of his tour in Japan._

 _Pony says he misses you all and he'll be home soon. Only 78 days to go. He'll write when he's able to. He doesn't want you to worry. I can't say more about his state of being or this letter won't reach you. He's glaring at me now. I'll end it here._

I stand there not knowing what to think. Ponyboy was no longer in Vietnam. Thank god. Relief washes over me. He broke some ribs and his right hand, nothing too serious. It's the last line of Two-Bit's letter that worries me. _I can't say more about his state of being or this letter won't reach you._

 _State of being_ , what is Two-Bit inferring? Why did he write that in there? Is he trying to let us know that despite Pony's physical injuries, he's in a bad way emotionally? I guess you would be shaken up being so close to a mine. I can't even begin to imagine it. And the thought of Ponyboy coming that close to death – thank god he is going to be all right. Thank god he's out of Vietnam. But the thought of him being sent back to Nam - how can they do that? Don't they give a fuck what it's doing to my brother? They don't care about his state of being. Is that what Two-Bit means?

I glance at Darry. A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Darry," I begin. "Least he's out of Vietnam for now. Least we know nothing bad is going to happen to him."

Darry's head snaps up. His blue gaze stormy with raw emotion. "I want him home. They should send him home!"

I can see he's about to lose it – big time. I just stand there and watch the fallout. I watch Darry get out of his chair and smash his fist into the nearest thing; the back door.

I close my eyes, wishing all of this to go away, wishing Ponyboy was home with us right now.

I let Darry rage. And helplessly just watch him. Eventually he will calm down and he does.

I patch up his bruised and swollen knuckles.

"Two-Bit said in the letter that he was leaving for home in a week," I murmur. "The letter was sent over a week ago. He might already be back home. Maybe we should give his mom a call and find out. We could go visit him."

Darry lets out a sigh. "Yeah, we can do that."

My hands rest on his shoulders and I begin to massage them. He's so tense. I'm not, because I'm just hell glad Pony's out of Vietnam. Too me, this is the best news we've had yet.

* * *

Later, I phone Mrs Matthews. Two-Bit had arrived back yesterday. He is staying at a military hospital in Oakland and will be there for a few months having rehabilitation. She is going to drive out there tomorrow to see him. She'll call us and let us know how he is. She tells us that Two-Bit is allowed visitors. It's all the prompting we need.

That following Sunday, Darry, Steve and I take the two hour drive out to Oakland to see him. I'm feeling anxious. It's been nearly ten months since I've seen Two-Bit. Though, not much has changed for us, a lot has changed for him and Ponyboy. It's those changes that worry me.

My nerves increase when we reach the hospital and are led to what's called the rec room. I wonder if all military hospitals are as plain and drab as this one.

It doesn't take us longer to spy Two-Bit. He's sitting down on a leather back chair at a table playing cards.

He looks much like the last time we saw him only thinner. Which comes as a bit of shock because he's always been so robust. I think if Two-Bit is this thin what is Ponyboy gonna be like? Pony, who was already too thin before he even went to Vietnam. I shudder at the thought. I have these visions of Pony looking like those holocaust survivors Mr Hackett showed us photos of back in my junior year.

Two-Bit's face lights up at the sight of us. He still has that trade mark grin, but what's reassuring is that he can smile.

"Just the distraction I need," he exclaims. "I've only been here five days and I hate this place already. Too many rules."

"You should be used to rules by now," Steve quips and slaps him on the back.

"There ain't some things I'm ever gonna get used to."

We all take turns to grip and shake his hand in old greaser style.

"Hey, Two-Bit you're a sight for sore eyes," I tell him.

"Good to have your home," Darry adds. "How you're holding up?"

We pull up chairs and sit down.

"Okay. Starting to get use to hopping around on one leg."

My eyes rest on his legs. His left leg is missing just above his knee. I try not to stare at it too much. It seems so odd to see him without a leg.

"They've got me using crutches now. The leg is healing fine, what's left of it."

He grimaces. I can't even begin to imagine what he's going through.

"The telegram said you lost it in a booby trap," Darry spoke.

"One of those Chicom jumper mines," Two-Bit tells us. "It's a pressurized booby trap. You step on it, but the damage isn't done till you to step of the fucking thing. At least no one else gets hurt around you unlike the bouncing Betty mines."

"Is that's what happened to Ponyboy?" I ask.

Two-Bit nods, his face darkening.

"Yeah, he didn't trigger it though, otherwise he would have been dead. The lieutenant did. Ponyboy just happened to be in the vicinity of it, but he still got lucky."

I notice the muscle twitch in Darry's jaw. Two-Bit reaches in his pocket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. The slight tremor in his hand doesn't go unnoticed by me.

"Should you be smoking?" Steve says.

Two-Bit shrugs. "Nah, shouldn't do a lot of things, but it don't stop me."

Somethings don't change, I muse.

"How is Ponyboy holding up?" Darry asks.

Two-Bit lights his cigarette and draws back.

"He's tougher than you think. Hell, I've seen lots of guys lose it over there and credit to Pony, but he can hold his own."

Only because he's had you, I feel like saying and swallow the resentment, once again.

"You said in the letter that you couldn't discuss his state of being," Darry continues.

"Ease up Dar, Two-Bit's only got back," I butt in.

But Two-Bit waves me off.

"It's all right. I'll give it to you straight, Darry. He's one lucky son of a bitch to get off as lightly as he did. Going through something like that messes with ya head. Why did I survive, why didn't the guy next to me? Doing the crazy shit we had to do – it's hard to deal with it, and he's still really young."

I'm feeling sick again.

"And even though he got off lightly, he still got cut up pretty bad from the shrapnel."

"How bad?

Two-Bit takes another puff on his cigarette, a frown denting his forehead.

"It ain't pretty. He had to have a lot of stitches. He'll have a lot of scarring. But he will heal and he'll be perfectly capable – physically."

I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I glance at Darry to see how he's taking it. His eyes are clouded with pain. Two-Bit's pause before the 'physically' worries me, it makes me think Ponyboy is not in a good way mentally.

"He's lost a lot of weight," Two-Bit continues.

"So have you," Steve points out.

"Yeah, but I could afford too. And we all know Pony can't."

I feel myself flounder in a well of emotion. Will I even recognize my brother when I see him?

"The good thing to come out of that is the Doc said he has to put on 30 pounds before they'll send him back."

I almost choke on hearing those words. What the - he's lost 30 pounds! How is it possible that Pony's lost that much weight?! They'll be nothing left of him. That sick feeling in my stomach worsens.

"He's hand was all busted up, he had to have two operations on it. They can't send him back until that's better. With luck, he might get to stay in Japan till his time is up. I can't see them sending him back out to battle. They'll give him light duties, like a paper pusher. The kids bright. He worked in a bank, they'll find him some job to do."

I wish Two-Bit sounded more convincing, but he sounds like he's trying to reassure himself as much as he is us. And we all know it.

I see Darry's jaw clench. "You, think," he mutters in a low harsh voice.

I notice the hardened expression on Two-Bit's face, and I start to see the changes in him. There's not the same easy going light in his eyes anymore. His face is haunted and filled with dark shadows.

He stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray.

"You wanted it straight, Darry and it doesn't get any straighter than this." His voice is thick with emotion. "You can't let him get sent back to Vietnam. It'll destroy him if it hasn't already. You don't know what we had to do over there. You can't even begin to imagine it."

I feel waves pounding in my head, the blood flowing in my ears.

"How?" Darry demands, his voice strained. His eyes flash with a deep, searing, gut-wrenching pain.

I can't bear to see it.

Steve sits there looking shell shocked.

I have to get out of there. I can't hear anymore, it feels like my heart is being ripped apart.

"I gotta get some fresh air," I manage to get out in a hoarse voice.

Unable to look at anyone, I get up from the chair and all but run out of the room. I don't know where I'm going. My vision blurs with tears. The thought of Ponyboy all but destroyed by that war is too much for me. I can't take it.

The corridor sways before me. I stumble down it and somehow find myself outside, blinking up at the bright sunlight.

I see a nearby table. I collapse onto the seat and bury my face in my arms. I cry for everything I've ever lost. I cry for my parents. I cry for my younger brother forced into becoming something he had no say about. I'm shit scared he'll never be the same.

I'm so lost in my world of pain and grief that I don't hear anyone approach till they speak my name.

"Soda."

I know its Darry.

He sits down next to me and places his hands on my shoulders. I let him draw me into his arms.

"Just don't let him get sent back to Vietnam, Darry," I sob in a thick voice.

"I will. I don't care what I have to do. Even if I have to fly to Japan to do it. Fuck the Army."

He doesn't swear often and I find it oddly comforting. I hear his heart beating in his chest.

"Two-Bit gave me the name and phone number of the base he's staying at. I'm going to hound them every living minute of the day till they listen."

Hearing the conviction in Darry's voice offers me some comfort. I know Darry. When he gets like this there is no stopping him.

"Either way I'll damn well make sure Ponyboy never steps another foot in Vietnam. You don't mess with the Curtis brothers, especially me."

I hold onto this, because it's all I have. Darry will fix things. He always does. And when Ponyboy gets home - we will find a way to make him whole again.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. Love to hear what you all think. Please send a review and let me know.

Carolynne

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	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! It's very encouraging to see how many people are now reviewing this story. They do inspire me to write! And my writing flow is coming along nicely at the moment. Which means quicker updates.

Here is the next chapter.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 19.**_

* * *

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I hate looking at my reflection in the mirror. I hate what I see. I hate what I've lost.

Johnny had no fucking idea on what he was talking about when he told me to stay gold. There is nothing gold about this world we live in. There is nothing gold left in me.

Every time I have a shower I feel the red raised scars over my body. They serve as reminders of that horrible day I want to forget, only I can't. The Doc says it takes time to get over an experience like that. As if he would know? He's not living it. It's all just empty words to me now.

Sometimes I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night thinking I'm still in the jungles of Vietnam. I hear unfamiliar noises, the soft footsteps and I'm convinced the Viet Cong are here. I automatically reach for my rifle, only to collide with the bed rail. The nurses put up the bed rails at night for this very reason.

I'm often woken up to urgent whispers and shouts erupting – _"Hit the dirt!"_

I break out in a cold sweat.

" _What is it? What's going on?"_

The lights go on and majority of the ward is awake. We breathe a sigh of relief to find ourselves in Japan. The guys make light of it, the nurses settle us back down and we try to get back to sleep.

* * *

I miss Two-Bit. I feel the loneliness every day. It's crazy, but I'd almost rather be with my platoon, with people I know than all alone here with nothing to keep my mind distracted.

I fight the extreme tiredness I feel, which is attributed to me being so called, malnourished. I get given lectures nearly every other day about it too.

Still, I push myself physically, walking as much as my body will allow me too despite being told to take it slow. Sometimes I'll limp across the spacious lawns of the base to the compound gate and peer wistfully into a world of students in uniforms, men in business suits and women with babies strapped to their backs. I think I wouldn't mind exploring it one day. But the thought also makes me break out in a cold sweat; too many people, too crowded. I watch the kids play in the street, their shrill laughter hurts my ears.

We're not allowed to leave the base but it doesn't stop the more able bodies from doing it. Where else would we get the alcohol and smokes?

We all have our demons to bear in this ward, we've all faced battles, seen and done stuff that goes against everything we've been brought up to believe. In order to survive I've done the unimaginable. Things I'd never thought I'd be capable of doing. I'm no longer naive. Now I'm cursed and wounded. I'm fragmented in to millions of tiny pieces with no hope of piecing myself back together. I'm never gonna be the same. I drink to numb the pain, to obliterate all the horrible images in my head.

I'm not the only one who smuggles in bottles of bourbon. A lot of guys secretly drink under their bed covers at night. They conceal forbidden drugs too – everything from beer in the ice machine to, on rare occasions, marijuana in the bedside table. The nurses crack down from time to time, but often turn a blind eye as long as it's not hurting anyone too much. They get what we go through in Vietnam. The newer nurses are still idealistic, and the guys in the ward play to that, trying to get away with whatever they can, or if the nurse is young and attractive, they'll flirt with her. I sometimes feel a bit sorry for them, but then I want to yell at them, tell them to go home and get out before they end up like – Cherry, or worst – like us.

I saw her tough exterior slowly erode. Her idealistic views, much like my own, get blown away with what we had to see and had to do. I try not to think of her. But being here in this hospital and seeing nurse's day in day out, I can't help it at times. I wonder if she's doing okay. Because last time I saw her she wasn't. I remember how she wept in my arms, how I tried to comfort her.

I remember her words – _'I'm sorry, Ponyboy.'_

 _I brush the hair back from her face, tell her she doesn't have to be sorry._

' _But I do … I'm using you.'_

I don't see how. It's not like I'm not getting anything out of this. We made love after that, getting lost in each other, getting lost in the moment … getting … I shut the thoughts out.

No point going there. No point in hoping I could have a normal life even if I do get out of this place alive.

* * *

The days pass by in slow succession. As I become one of the more able bodies and due to high demands of help needed, I find myself filling water pitchers and ferrying supplies around the hospital. I have two able legs after all and one good arm. I don't mind. It makes me feel useful.

I've just come back from another attempted walk around the base. I'm out of breath. I don't know why. The Doc says I've gotta stop smoking. As if that's gonna happen.

I'm surprised to see my duffle bag sitting on my bed. Somehow or another it's reached me here. For a moment, I just stand there staring at it, unsure on what to do, as if it's gonna bite me.

Slowly, I approach it and start going through the bag. The first thing I find are my reading glasses. I'm sort of happy about that. Maybe now I can read to distract myself. I find the photo of Soda and me next. I put the glasses on my face to get a better look. Soda looks just like I remember, the happy go lucky expression on his face, it makes my breath catch in my throat. I rub at the sudden pain in my chest. He really is handsome. I'd forgotten how much. His and Darry's face have blurred of late. Or maybe it's just me wanting to blot them out.

I put the photo on the bedside table and start going through the rest of my bag. The stash of marijuana I had in there is gone. That doesn't surprise me. Though I'm a bit annoyed. I could have sold it and used that money to buy more alcohol.

I find the camera and the memories assail me. Sodapop. I remember the expectant look on his face as he gave me the camera last Christmas. I remember how moved I felt, though it didn't surprise me. Soda's always been thoughtful like that. The perfect brother. I couldn't have wished for better.

"I'll send that down to the laundry for a clean," a voice speaks.

I look up at the nurse with the fair hair and curvy figure. The guys love her here, they often give her wolf whistles which make her blush. Obviously she ain't used to it yet. She's young. But probably no younger than me.

Two-Bit would love her too, if he were here. He loves blondes with big breasts. However, I find her a bit nosy. She asks too many questions. And just like now, I see her pick up the photo I'd just put on the bedside table of me and Soda. I guess I shouldn't be too quick to judge, she had to put the pitcher of water on the table and the photo was in the way.

"Who is the photo of?" she asks.

"My brother," I murmur.

I watch the smile cross her face, my annoyance growing.

"Your brothers are cute and so young."

I don't bother to correct her. I don't bother to point out that I'm the younger brother and that I said brother, not brothers.

"I can see the resemblance. The youngest one looks so sweet."

Yeah, that's me. That's what I used to be. I don't blame her for assuming. The photo was taken six years ago. I barely resemble the boy. I was short but well-built for my height then. I was full of fanciful dreams as a kid, before I knew what grief and loss was. My hair was lighter and it's darken with age, not to mention I had it cut short the other week. It looked odd with the bald patch and all.

"You must miss them," she continues with a wistful note in her voice.

I don't really want to talk about it, but I can't bring myself to be rude. Some things are still too ingrained in me.

"Yeah, I do."

"What are their names?"

I repress the urge to snatch the photo out of her hand and tell her to mind her own business.

"Sodapop," I mutter hoping my tone of voice is enough of an indicator that I don't want to talk.

"Unusual names, you Ponyboy and Sodapop, what about the youngest one?"

I grit my teeth. "Darry," I lie.

She places the photo back on the bedside table, a wistful expression on her face.

"I have two brothers as well."

I don't remember asking her. I don't really care. I just nod and say nothing.

She must have gotten the hint, because she moved on to the next bed. I'm a jerk, I think to myself. I can't even have a normal conversation with a girl. I once wouldn't have thought twice about discussing my brothers in detail. I also would have asked her about her brothers, taken an interest like a normal person.

* * *

The next day I receive a letter. It's from Sodapop. I stare at it for a long moment. My mouth goes dry. Soda is everything good and pure. I miss him. I really miss him, both of my brothers. I wonder if they've received the letter Two-Bit wrote three weeks ago. I'm pretty sure they would have by now.

My hand shakes as I tear open the letter.

Soda's words – they tear a piece from me. It was obviously written at a time they'd just heard about Two-Bit being wounded in action without knowing what had happened to him.

It makes me feel bad. I want to reassure him, but how can I?

 _Please tell me you are not hurt._ Yeah, I am, but physically – the wounds will heal – emotionally – I can't even begin to go there.

 _You know I'll love you no matter what._ Maybe, but I can never forgive myself. I'm not the same person he remembers.

I need a drink.

* * *

Escaping the confines of the ward, I slip outside and find my favorite spot. It's a stone barbecue pit under a strand of pine trees that reminds me of home. There is no one around, and I sit down on the ground, leaning against one of the pine trees. I pull the flask out of my pocket and take long swigs. It burns and it numbs and I welcome it. Somehow, I manage to smoke and drink one handed, precariously positioning the flask between my too thin thighs.

I pull my reading glasses out of my pocket. I don't know why I'm torturing myself by reading Soda's letter again. I can hear his words in my head. I can even see the pained expression on his face as he begs me to - _write to him_ and _to tell him everything. I need to know._ _You have to let me know the truth about your feelings, Pony. Don't be scared that'll you will make me and Darry worry, because we already do that every single day._

A lump forms in my throat. I take another swig as tears blur my vision. If they could see me now … just as well they can't. And how do I write about my feelings? How do I write about the anger, the despair and the hollowness inside? I can't even process the raw emotions inside of me, let alone write about them. I just want to ignore them in hope that they'll go away. But they don't. Soda and Darry would find no peace of mind if I wrote about such things. They could not understand my torment. They could not understand my brokenness. No one can. A part of me has been torn apart. It can't put right again. I wish … I wish it could.

I'm in hell. No one can help me.

* * *

Despite my lack of motivation. I put one foot in front of the other and keep moving, keep functioning. Every day I get a letter from Soda. And if it isn't Soda or Darry, then its Two-Bit telling me how fucking bored he is. Two-Bit's letters are the only thing that make me smile now.

I attempt to write left handed. It doesn't last long and I give up in frustration. Then I give it a go with my right hand, but the plaster cast doesn't allow me to properly grip the pen. Not only that but over the course of the day the pain increases in my hand and it dramatically begins to swell up. The tips of my fingers turn blue. I call for the nurse.

* * *

I'm taken to the clinical assessment room and the plaster cast is quickly removed. My hand looks bad, all swollen and puffy. I try not to grimace as the doctor prods and probes it. It hurts like hell.

"I think you have an infection in your 4th and 5th metatarsals," he speaks and looks sternly at me above the rim of his glasses. "You've been here four weeks and you've only gained 5 pounds."

 _With all due respect Sir, but if you had to put off returning to Vietnam, you wouldn't eat either_ , I felt like saying. I keep my mouth shut.

"Your body needs a lot of energy during the wound-healing process," he continues. "Being malnourished increases your risk of infections as is evident with your hand."

"I've never had much of an appetite," I murmur.

"Since when?" the doc asks.

I hesitate for a moment. I can feel the nurse's sympathetic gaze of me. I really need to learn her name. I just think of her as the nosy nurse, the one that likes to talk, the one that thinks the younger brother in the photo is Darry and not me.

"Since I was 14."

"What happened to trigger it?" the doc continues and I begin to squirm. What has that got to do with now?

"My parents died in a car accident when I was 13." Which is near enough to the truth. "I just didn't feel like eating much anymore."

"Did you receive any counselling?"

No, not really, no one thought of it.

I shake my head and wonder where he is going with this.

"You have two older brothers, correct?"

I frown. How does he know that?

"And you're the youngest?"

I avoid the nurse's interested gaze. No doubt she's beginning to figure out that the youngest boy in the photo is in fact me.

"Yes."

"You're older brother is Daryl?" the doc asks.

"Yes."

How the hell does he know all of this?

"You're brother has continued to phone the hospital asking about you."

I feel sick in the stomach. Oh, god, if Darry's phoning and harassing them then he must have spoken to Two-Bit. Knowing Two-Bit he would have told them everything and obviously worried the hell out of them.

"I spoke to him," the doc continues. "He told me everything about your past. He told me how you were nearly drowned by a group of drunken Socs when you were 14. Your friend Johnny stabbed and killed one of them in attempt to stop them."

I freeze on the spot. My heart thudding painfully in my chest.

"He told me how you and Johnny hid out in a church for a week, and that you both attempted to save children from a fire in the burning down church. You got out, but Johnny was hit by a falling piece of timber, which fractured his spine. He also suffered severe burns."

The vision of Johnny lying on that hospital bed all broken and burned flashes before my eyes. My head begins to spin.

"He died two days later from his injuries, and you've never really forgiven yourself."

I feel an anger suddenly rise up. "Why would my brother tell you that?!" I explode. "What's it got to do with you?!"

The doctor just looks at me calmly.

"To help you," he says in a kind tone of voice. "Because he cares, and he doesn't want to see you get sent back to Vietnam."

It makes sense. I try to reason in my head. But I'm still mad to have my past used as a means to get me off the hook. No one needs to know about my sad pathetic past.

"I don't blame him. Unfortunately, the Army doesn't see fit who they send to battle. You're just a number in a system and someone who has already suffered trauma and loss like you have should never have been put into a combat zone."

I feel the bitterness burn in the pit of my stomach. "Yeah, but they do," I all but spit back. "I guess they don't really give a shit if they send nut cases like me, just as long as you kill as many gooks as you can, maybe even receive a medal on the chest. A pat on the back. It don't matter if they're using us. They teach us to kill. They brainwash us. They strip us of our identity. They dehumanize us so we don't give a fuck about how many bullets we put in a gook. The more we take down the better."

I'm trembling by this stage, such is the rage inside of me.

The doctor doesn't even bat an eyelid during my tirade. He's probably used to it. But I see the nurses face go pale. Good, I think. She needs to learn a few home truths. She needs to know about how the real world works. If she has any common sense, she'd be requesting to get sent home.

"I get you are angry, Ponyboy."

No he doesn't. He has no idea. I can't bring myself to look at him. I'm tired of being patronized.

"I'm currently writing a medical certificate to the department that declares you unfit for battle. You will spend what's left of your time, doing light duties. Under no circumstances are you to return to Vietnam."

I sit there, blinking, barely able to comprehend what he's just told me.

"You will undergo psychiatric care and attend therapy sessions for the remainder of your time here."

Trust Darry to kick up enough stink to get me out. I'll probably end up in a nuthouse instead now, I bitterly muse. Still preferable to going back to Vietnam.

"You will need to have an operation to clean up the infection in your hand and then you'll receive antibiotics intravenously for a week depending on how quickly the infection heals."

A sudden weariness overcomes me, but I have to know. "And if it doesn't heal?"

Once again, he peers at me over the rim of his glasses.

"You risk losing your hand."

What the hell! Talk about being blunt.

"Gain weight Ponyboy and no alcohol."

He has to be kidding?! My face must be a dead giveaway to what I'm thinking given his next words.

"Alcohol lowers the effectiveness of the antibiotics and I'm sure you don't want to risk losing your right hand."

I grit my teeth. Of course I don't want to lose my hand, but the thought of going without a drink at night gives me the cold sweats.

"I can't sleep," I stammer.

It's hard to confess it. I feel the shame wash over me. How the hell did I get so dependent on alcohol?

"I'll prescribe you sleeping tablets."

I can't see that helping, but I just nod.

"It's up to you," he continues. "To do the right thing."

He glances up at the nurse. "Strap up his hand for now. Let him call home and then get him prepped for surgery."

My eyes widen. Did he just say call home?

"Yes Sir," the nurse replies, taking a piece of paper from the doctor. A piece of paper that had numbers written on it. My home number.

The doctor rises to his feet. "I'll see you in surgery, Ponyboy."

With that he left, and I'm just sitting there, rooted to the spot, unable to speak let alone think.

* * *

The nurse places a splint under my swollen hand and begins to strap it. I'm feeling way too vulnerable. Just the thought of speaking to my brothers has made me all jittery. Hearing the doc talk about my past hasn't helped with that. I'm still kind of shocked by it all. The last thing I need is to be reminded about Johnny dying. I've seen enough death in my lifetime. Maybe dying young is the better way to go. Johnny would never get to know how fucked up life is. Or, maybe he did and that's why he didn't mind dying in the end.

I keep waiting for the usually nosy nurse to say something, to ask questions, but she doesn't. I guess there's not much to be said. Though right now I wouldn't mind her incessant chatting. I could do with the distraction.

"What's your name?" I ask, breaking the silence which is beginning to unnerve me.

"Emma," she replies.

I don't know of anyone with that name. There's a lot of Mary's, Patricia and Susan's in my neighborhood.

"It's different," I say.

A smile crosses her face. "Not as different as Ponyboy and Sodapop."

She has a point and there's another thing bothering me. I don't want her to think bad of my brothers.

"Darry's a good brother. No one thought of counselling, not that we could ever have afforded it," I mumble. "He worked two jobs so that he could keep us, so that me and Soda wouldn't end up in a boy's home."

"I imagine it would have been hard for him. It's no wonder he worries."

Her words are strangely soothing.

"He worries too much," I mutter.

* * *

Once my hand is strapped up, Emma takes me to the doctor's office. She picks up the phone handle and dials a whole bunch of numbers. Then she hands me the phone.

My palms are sweaty, my heart is beating irregularly in my chest.

I take the phone from her and clutch it to my ear. Thankfully, she gives me my privacy as the phone rings. Man I'm so nervous. I haven't spoken to my brothers in ten months.

The phone clicks and my breath catches in my throat.

"Hello," a voice speaks, Darry's voice and just hearing it again … makes me feel all choked up.

"Hello," Darry's says again. "Who is this?"

I swallow. "Darry," I manage to croak. "It's … Ponyboy."

There's dead silence on the other end. I clutch the phone even tighter. "Darry?"

"Pony," he murmurs sounding as choked up as I am.

I can tell he's crying and it makes me feel bad. I try racking my brains for something to say.

"Doc said I could call you," I begin.

I hear him clear his throat. "Yeah, well it's about time. I've been hounding them nonstop for the last two days."

Some things don't change. It almost brings a ghost of a smile to my lips.

"Just tell me how you are, Ponyboy? Tell me they won't send you back to Vietnam."

I take a deep breath. "I won't be going back to Nam. I think you managed to convince them I'm mentally too fuc … messed up," I quickly amend.

I hear Darry swear. "You're not messed up, Pony."

But I am. Shit. I need to think before I speak.

"Well it worked and you gotta do what it takes to get them to listen and luckily for you they did, and I'm grateful, Darry."

Probably won't be during the therapy sessions. But right now, I am.

"Are you okay?" he asks again.

"Yeah, sure," I lie. "A bit rattled, missing Two-Bit … how is he by the way?"

"You know, Two-Bit. He's tough. He makes light of it as he always does. He was pretty blunt when it came to talking about you. Said you were in a bad way. He told me to do whatever it takes to get you out."

I screw my eyes shut and try to rein in my turbulent emotions. Trust Two-Bit, I'm gonna kill him when I see him.

"I'm getting better," I manage to say. Though not really, far from it. I could lose my hand. I don't tell Darry that. What he doesn't know, doesn't hurt.

"I'll be home in two months," I continue. "Just don't worry too much, Darry. I'm well looked after here."

I can hear Soda in the background, bombarding Darry with a pile of questions.

"Soda wants to talk to you," Darry says.

"Hey, Ponyboy, hey little buddy," I hear Soda speak. "You doing okay?"

Hearing Soda's voice breaks all of my resolve to try to be strong. The tears that have been threatening, spill down my cheeks.

"I-I … I'm trying to be okay."

I hear Soda's breath catch in his throat.

"Aww, don't cry, Pony," he murmurs, sounding as emotional as I am. "Ya just gonna make me cry."

"As if that takes much," I manage to quip.

He gives a brief pained laugh. "You know me."

"Yeah, I do."

"I miss you so much, Pony."

"The worst of it's over now. I ain't going back to Nam. I'll be home soon enough."

"You've been getting my letters?"

"Just about every day, they keep me strong."

I gotta give him that reassurance.

"Sorry I can't write back. I've been trying, but my hand is all banged up."

"Yeah, I know. Two-Bit said. I hope it gets better soon."

Me too, though I don't know. I almost break down and tell him the truth, tell him I have to have another operation on it because of an infection. Almost … I … I can't. They don't need to worry any more than they already are.

"Yeah, me too." I swallow the lump in my throat. "Soda … I … I miss you."

Time is running out and I have to go. I tell Darry not to worry. I tell Soda not to cry. For what's it worth, but knowing my brothers, they'll keep doing both.

Once I hang up the phone it's as if a light has been switched off, and I'm in darkness once again. I feel totally alone.

I stand there in numb silence, staring at the phone.

I hear the door open and know Emma has returned. I try to compose myself.

"Sometimes it makes it worse when you hear their voices," she softly says.

I hurriedly wipe my eyes.

"Been ten months."

As if that explains it. Just makes me even more homesick, hearing their voices again. I wonder if I said that out allowed, but I haven't. I often think I'm talking when I'm not.

"I need to get you prepped for surgery, Ponyboy."

I nod, take a deep breath.

She places a hand on my arm, and her gaze meets mine. For a moment, her dark brown eyes remind me of Soda, eyes that can be gentle and sympathetic. I admire what the nurses do, putting up with the likes of us. It must be tough for them.

* * *

I'm on the operating table, once again. I'm trying to relax, but I feel anxious. Which is stupid, I tell myself. Not like I'm having a complex operation. It's just my hand. I've been here before.

"Just count to ten," the anesthetist instructs.

I feel something cold shoot up my vein.

"One," I begin. "Two, three …"

"There must be something you like to eat?" Emma asks.

I'm feeling groggy by this stage. It's an effort to get the words out. "Chocolate cake … m … milk ..."

Then there is nothing.

* * *

Once I'm under the anesthetic. I don't remember anything. I vaguely remember waking up in the recovery room. I'm wheeled back to the ward. I sleep soundly for several hours. I wish it could stay that way, but it doesn't. The nightmares return.

 _Johnny and I are sitting on the steps at the back of the church, smoking._

' _Man this feels good,' I say. 'They wouldn't let me smoke before the operation.'_

' _You shouldn't be smoking, Ponyboy,' Johnny tells me. 'It's gonna make ya sick.'_

 _I turn my head to look at him. He's all pale and shaking. He's the one that looks sick. I suddenly feel alarmed._

' _What is it, Johnny?'_

 _He turns pain filled eyes to mine._ ' _Why'd ya kill me, Pony?' he gasps._

 _I see blood seep through his shirt. He's white as a sheet. I look down in horror at the bayonet in my hand._

 _No. No. No. This can't be happening._

 _I catch his body in my arms before he slumps to the ground. Trembling, I lower his body to the ground. "I'm sorry … I'm so sorry … sorry …"_

 _He's just a boy, I've killed a boy. I killed Johnny. I look down at the bloody stumps of where my hands used to be, and I'm screaming._

Someone is shaking me, calling my name and I wake up. I don't know where the hell I am. My heart is racing.

"My hands," I choke. "Where the fuck are my hands?!"

"It's okay, Curtis. You have hands."

I look wildly up into the face of a stranger. No. This is all wrong. I don't feel right. Something is wrong with my hands. My eyes drop to my right hand, all bandaged up and then my left. There's some sort of tube going into it. I frantically pull at it. Blood starts spurting out everywhere.

"Tranquilize him! Now!" A voice yells.

Everything is spinning out of control. Johnny can't be dead. He's not dead. But I saw him. He was dead!

Sobs begin to rack my body. "I killed him … I killed Johnny. I didn't mean to kill him."

"Just calm down, Ponyboy."

I look up into a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Soda," I murmur.

"It's going to be okay."

I feel a hand brush against my forehead. Fingers gently stroking my hair. The panic, along with my sobs, begin to reside. Soda always strokes my hair to settle me. He knows what works.

"It's just a dream. You didn't kill him."

But I did. I know I did. I know I killed a boy.

"Ponyboy, look at me."

The voice is familiar. I gaze up at Soda. Only it ain't him.

"Do you know where you are?"

Slowly, recognition begins to dawn. "Emma," I sigh. It all comes back to me. "I'm in Japan."

She smiles, though her eyes still look sad. I seem to have that effect on people.

"Yes. Do you remember you had to have an operation on your hand?"

I frown and nod. "Yeah."

I see her visibly relax. The vestiges of the dream still leave me shaken, but reasoning has returned. I look down at the bloody mess of my left hand.

"You pulled the IV out," Emma explains. "It must have been some nightmare?"

I close my eyes. "Yeah," I sigh wearily trying to block the horrible images out of my head.

"Well make sure you don't pull this one out," the Matron chides.

She had put another tube into the crook of my elbow.

"You need those antibiotics and I've got a lot of patient's to tend to on this ward."

Emma begins patching up my left hand. "Don't mind her," she begins, after the Matron leaves. "She's all tough on the outside but a big softie inside."

I know she's always standing over my bed when I eat dinner to make sure I've eaten every bite. Clucking that tongue of hers when I don't, giving me a lecture I'm not interested in hearing.

I return my attention to Emma. She's nice. I have to take back my early judgement of her. She's also oddly compassionate.

"Do you always stroke your patient's hair?" I ask.

A hesitant smile crosses her face. "You'd be surprised by how a simple touch can calm an agitated, distressed patient down."

It certainly calmed me down.

"Sometimes they think I'm their mom."

"I thought you were Soda."

She raises a quizzical eyebrow.

"You have similar eyes to his," I hastily add. "After my mom died, he sort of took on that role. Always comforting me when I was upset. He's kinda of emotional and sensitive."

My words sound sort of slurred, I frown.

"You've been given a shot of Valium in the thigh. It will help you to relax."

"Is that why I feel drowsy all of a sudden?"

"Yes."

I don't mind. I feel strangely calm for a change. I don't know if it's from the drug, or her soothing presence.

"Tell me about your brothers?" I murmur drowsily.

I can't help notice how the light dances in her eyes as she talks about them. She is the oldest, she tells me. Carlo is 17 and Luca 15. They're a handful. Carlo is dreamy and into books. Luca loves sport.

And she tells me mine and Soda's name are different, I muse. I'd ask her about it if I wasn't so damn tired. My brain feels sluggish.

"What ... about you?" I manage to ask.

"I like romantic comedies and cooking," she smiles wryly and shakes her head. "Pretty boring I know."

Two-Bit would really really like her. He loves comedies. He loves food. I wish he was here. He's always been by my side through everything. In truth, I've never been alone until now. Though funnily enough, I don't feel so alone with Emma there, chatting away.

My eyelids begin to droop. A peace settles over me for the first time in a long while. I know it won't last, the demons will return, they always do. However, I take this brief moment of rest while I can. I never know when I'm gonna get it next.

.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I always love to hear what people think!

I kept agonizing over this chapter and there are still some things I wanted to make better, but after a while I've just got to let it go. Otherwise I'd never update :) Work and real life get in the way.

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	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Here is the next chapter!

Enjoy.

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 20.**_

* * *

.

They keep me sedated for the next couple of days. I'm stuck in bed, which I hate. I feel trapped and bored. The antibiotics sting, and my whole arm feels on fire afterwards. Sometimes I feel like ripping the drip out of my arm, but given the bruising in my left hand as the result of the last time I did that is enough to put me off. I wish Two-Bit was here. He'd keep me entertained. I look forward to his letters. They're always filled with anecdote's that make me smile, or some new joke he's heard about. He tells me he's getting about on crutches, _'got it down pact now'. The stump is healing. In about another month they'll start fitting me with a fake leg. Doesn't stop me flirting with the nurses._

My jaw clenches at the word 'stump'. I see plenty of it here. Soldier's missing legs and arms. I still have a hard time imagining Two-Bit like them.

He doesn't say much about his emotional state, but that's Two-Bit. In many ways it's a relief to know he's back in the states. I'd hate the thought of him in Vietnam and not to be by his side.

 _Just hold your shit together, Ponyboy. You'll be home soon enough. I can't say the worst of it will be over, only you and I know what that means. No one else gets it here. But you won't be alone. We'll have each other and that's a good thing._

I can't imagine home anymore. And Soda's letter are always about home. _Steve brought another car. Darry's been lighting the candles at both ends. Working four days a week, going to College for two and staying up late at night studying. He prefers it that way, stops him worrying too much about you._

I can see Darry burying himself in his studies.

 _I've brought a recipe book. I've been trying out some new dishes. Darry doesn't know what to make of them yet._

It brings a smile to my lips. I can imagine it. I pity Darry.

I've tried some new types of food lately, thanks to Emma, who seems determined to get me eating. I wish I could write back to Soda and tell him about it, tell him how I ate lasagna last night.

Emma's mom is Italian and her dad is American, which explains her brother's names.

She talks a lot. I don't mind at times, it keeps me distracted.

She had made the lasagna herself.

" _My mom sends me care packages," she'd explained. "She worries that I'll fade away over here."_

 _She rolled her eyes and snorted. "As if that's ever going to happen."_

* * *

I haven't touched a drop of alcohol, but it's not from lack of wanting it. I want it every night. But I don't want to lose my hand. I figure I can start drinking again when I get the all clear. Maybe I'll be better before that happens, and I won't want a drink. I hope. I don't know what's gotten into me with the whole drinking thing. I know I hated it once before. But now … it's not like I'm hurting anyone, other than myself. I haven't had any nightmares the last three nights. I'm actually getting some sleep, until someone else wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. It happens all the time. None of us talk about it.

I'm still on the drip, but it's attached to a metal pole with wheels so I can move around now.

I was hoping they'd forget about the therapy sessions, but come day four I was taken to the shrink's office. I don't know what good it's going to do. I don't want to talk about what happened in Vietnam, I most certainly don't want to talk about the boy I killed. I don't want to talk about my past either, but I'm more willing to do that just to appease the shrink. If I co-operate a bit, they might think I'm all right, and I won't have to have any more sessions.

Once in the shrink's office, the nurse leaves me alone. I glance at the shrink. He doesn't look that old. Early 20's probably. I don't how someone who looks fresh out of College is gonna understand what I've been through. What would he know of war? Probably the most stressful thing he's ever faced are passing exams.

He gets up from his chair, tells me to take a seat on a single seat sofa. He introduces himself as Randolph. I can just imagine Two-Bit cracking up at his name. ' _Randy Randolph,_ ' he'd laugh. It almost makes me smile.

Randolph has a rather studious face, but his eyes are warm.

I sit down on the sofa. It's comfortable.

"Ponyboy Curtis," he speaks.

I feel him assessing me, making some mental deduction on my physical appearance. As if that might tell him something about me.

I try not to squirm. I look down at the nails of my left hand. I've already bitten them down to the quick and there's nothing left to bite. Still, I look for any tiny bit of white nail I could chew off as a means of distraction.

"How is the weight gain going?" he asks.

Does it look like it's going anywhere, I'm tempted to reply.

"I don't know," I say instead. "It's only been four days since the operation."

He glances down at the file on his desk, a slight frown denting his forehead.

"Your notes say you've lost 35 pounds since your enlistment date."

"I've put five pounds back on," I add.

"You were already in the underweight category at the time of enlistment."

This is safe enough territory, I think. I can talk about my weight.

"Have you always been thin?" he asks.

A rock settles in the pit of my stomach. Shit, maybe I don't want to talk about this? I guess the doc would have left notes from the other day. He probably would have written about what I said, about how I haven't had an appetite since I was 14. About Johnny dying and the church and the fire.

Do I lie?

Lying is easier. But then I just want this over, so maybe it's better I give him what he wants to hear?

"I was short as a kid, and a bit stockier then. I guess I slimmed down when I shot up in height."

I feel him assessing me again. I should try to make eye contact, but I find myself gazing out the window, wishing I was anywhere but here.

"You haven't had much of an appetite since you were 14 according to the notes here."

How did I think this was going to easy? Why are these people wanting to probe into my head? What good is it going to do? I try to remind myself it's to keep me out of Vietnam.

"I haven't," I admit. "I don't know why."

Randolph clasps his hands together as if he's choosing his next words carefully.

"It's not uncommon for that to happen after you have suffered grief. You went through a traumatic time losing both your parents and best friend within 8 months of each other."

I briefly wonder why Darry never mentioned Dallas.

"What concerns me is that your appetite has never returned," he continues. "It's been five years."

My knee starts jerking. I place my hand on it. I'm feeling jittery. I'm longing for a cigarette. It's been four days.

"I can't explain that."

He looks at me thoughtfully. "Let's talk about Johnny."

Let's not, I inwardly groan. Something akin to dread washes over me.

"Johnny stabbed and killed a person."

"He did it to save me."

"How did that make you feel?"

I scowl. "Great."

"Do you think Johnny regretted killing a person?"

"Of course he did, what sort of dumb question is that?!" I snap. "Johnny is the last person who'd want to hurt anyone."

"But he did it for you."

 _I didn't mean to … but they were drowin' you and I was so scared._

The blood rushes to my ears. I feel my anger being to rise. "He shouldn't have. He hated himself for it."

I want out of here. I want out of here now!

"You don't think your life is worth saving?" he simply asks.

No! At what cost?! Man, I hate shrinks.

"Johnny thought it worth saving," he continues.

"Yeah, and he paid the price for it," I mutter.

His tortured face flashes before my eyes, _I killed him. How'd you like to live with that?_

I am living with it, every night when I close my eyes, I see the eyes of that kid I killed. But I killed to save myself not another person. Johnny was a hero. I'm not. After Two-Bit lost his leg I even wanted to kill as many Viet Cong's as I could, relishing in it. Their faces are just a blur to me. The Army did what it always had intended; trained me to become a killer. I couldn't even keep count on how many gooks I've killed. Some guys did, were proud of it.

"In that he died?" Randolph speaks, breaking into my train of thought.

I sigh. "Yeah, I guess."

"You think he felt okay about dying, because he saved those children from the fire?"

"H-He said it was worth it, worth saving those kids, they had more to live for than him."

A sense of hopeless despair hits me. So many things were out of my control.

"Did you see him die?"

See him … _he just looked dead. Like a candle with the flame gone._

"Yeah." My throat goes dry. "I saw him die." I was there. But not really. I couldn't comprehend it. I was the last person he would ever talk to. _Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold._

"He asked me to do something I couldn't," I murmur out loud.

If I saw him now … I wouldn't be able to face him. I could never look into his hopeful eyes. I failed him. A dull ache takes residence in my heart.

"I don't see what any of this has to do with me not wanting to eat," I mutter, feeling resentful.

"There are possible reasons," the shrink says. "Reasons we need to explore."

I don't like the sound of that. It makes me think my time here is not done. And I want it to be over.

"How is talking about Johnny's death gonna help me," I point out. "It was five years ago."

"Because you still carry the guilt for it."

My jaw clenches. I want to deny his words, but my lips refuse to move. Because it's true. Johnny followed me into the fire to rescue those kids. It was my doing. He pushed me out of that building church to save me, yet again, at a cost to himself.

I can't change it. I can't go back and do things differently. How many times had I fantasied about doing that in the first year after his death. So many different scenarios had played out in my head. Until it would make me feel sick in the stomach, till I had no appetite left.

I feel Randolph studying me. I wonder what deductions he's making.

"You don't deny it," he says.

"No."

"That's a start, Ponyboy," he continues sounding pleased.

I don't see how. Of course I've always carried guilt for Johnny's death. I've always known that. It's nothing new.

"Can I go now?"

He nods.

My relief is palpable.

"I'll see you in three days' time."

* * *

I'm feeling wild by the time I return to the ward. I'm so angry. No way am I going back to therapy. There's no point to it. All it does is rehash memories I want to forget. I don't want to talk about Johnny. I want to forget him. I don't want his memories dragged into this war. What happened with Johnny has nothing to do with now.

I might not be able to drink, but I'm having a cigarette and they can't stop me. I don't care who gets in my way.

My hand shakes as I rummage in the draw of my bedside table for a packet of smokes. I manage to slip out with no one noticing. I go the rec room. There's only a handful of soldiers in here, a group of four playing cards. I find a far corner and sit down. My hand is still shaking as I attempt to light a cigarette. My head spins after a couple of puffs. But the smoke soon relaxes me. My frayed nerves begin to calm down.

I'm on my second cigarette when I see Emma walk into the rec room. Emma, who knows far too much about me. Emma, naïve and idealistic, everything I used to be.

Her eyes scan the room, and relief crosses her face when she sees me.

She's not the lecturing type, but I see the displeased expression on her face as she walks up to me.

"You were supposed to wait in the psychiatrist's office for a nurse to come and get you," she states.

I take it she was that nurse.

"Then I return to the ward and you weren't there."

There's a flash of annoyance in her dark brown eyes.

"You're not allowed to leave the ward," she continues, frowning at the cigarette in my hand.

"Where else can I smoke," I curtly reply and bring the cigarette up to my lips, resenting her intrusion.

Her hand rests on her hip as I take a drag.

"They will take the IV out in two days. Then you can smoke to your hearts content."

"Yeah well, I can't wait that long, besides the doc said I can't drink, but he didn't say I can't smoke."

"Hey, beautiful," one of the patient's call out from the group playing cards. "Don't waste your time with him. He wants to be alone. Come join us over here, we'll show you a good time."

I welcome the interruption. I hope she joins them, knowing she won't. She's continues to ignore them as they start giving her wolf whistles, commenting on her curves.

Her face reddens. I can see she's not comfortable with it. I don't blame her. Most of the guys here are pretty good, but there's always one or two that go too far with the comments. And two of them happen to be sitting in that group playing cards.

I stub my cigarette out and stand up, wanting to ease her discomfort.

"I'll go back to the ward," I tell her.

She shoots me a grateful look, and we walk towards the door.

"I would love to get my hands on that body," Harris remarks as we pass by. "I bet those big beautiful breasts of yours are soft and supple to touch."

I turn and glare at him. I don't even know why I suddenly feel compelled to protect Emma. I guess it's because she so innocent. If it had been Cherry, she would have torn strips of him by now, but Emma doesn't say anything.

I want her too. She needs to toughen up.

"Shut it, Harris," I hiss at him.

His eyes narrow as he gets to his feet. He's a good six foot four inches and built like a line backer.

"You gonna make me, Curtis?" he jeers.

I would, if I could. I feel my jaw clench. I feel the rage bubbling up inside of me. I'd love nothing more than to get in a fight with him. It'd feel good. Most of us grunts build up a camaraderie, even if none of us know each other, we get along. We understand each other, but there's always the one or two who are just racist, sexist jerks. And he's one of them.

"You look too pitiful to fight," he all but spits. "Nothing to you is there. You're all skin and bones. It hurts my eyes just looking at you."

He's right. I am pitiful. I'm in no fit state to fight anyone. Doesn't stop me wanting to though. I contemplate the situation. I still have one good hand.

I feel Emma tugging on my arm. "Just leave it, Ponyboy," she murmurs. "He isn't worth it."

It's her last words that brings me to my senses. _He isn't worth it._ She's right. He's not.

I drag my hated gaze away from Harris.

"Wise decision." His voice is mocking. "Ponyboy."

I don't bother answering and follow Emma out of the room.

We walk in silence for a bit. The wheels of the pole my drip is attached to, clanks on the wooden floorboards.

"I could have taken him," I half joke to ease the tension.

She gives me an amused look.

"He's going back to Vietnam tomorrow. I won't have to put up with the likes of him for much longer."

Only, more than likely to be replaced with another jerk, I silently fume.

"You're gonna have to get used to it."

She screws up her nose, shakes her head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

You'll be surprised what you get used to with time, I feel like saying.

"You wanna hope you never go to Vietnam," I say instead. "It'll be worse there."

An odd expression crosses her face. "I was thinking of it."

"Of what?"

She bites down on her bottom lip. "Putting in a request to work there."

I spin around to confront her. "What the hell for?" I snap.

I think of Cherry. I remember what it did to her, and she was already jaded before she went there. Emma is too sweet and naive, she'd never handle it in Vietnam.

"You think you're gonna make a difference?" My words sound harsh even in my own ears.

I see her flinch. My grip on the pole tightens.

"Because you won't, that place will suck you dry. Everything you once believed in will be gone. You'll become jaded and bitter. You'll become an empty shell, broken and shattered."

"Like it's done to you," she sadly returns.

My breath hitches in my throat. I avert my eyes from hers, clenching my jaw, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. I get angry so quickly now.

"What's it to you," I mutter through gritted teeth.

A host of emotions I don't want to feel, swirl through me. I can't bear to look at her. See the youthful idealism in her eyes. She has no idea about pain. No idea about death.

"You'll wanna toughen up then."

Yanking the pole, I stumble back to the ward.

"Ponyboy," she calls after me.

I don't bother to answer.

* * *

The nightmares return. _Dad and Darry are shooting ducks. Soda doesn't like it, he never has. But I don't mind it now. I shoot one after another and watch them fall to the ground feeling satisfied._

" _What are you doing, Pony?" Soda asks. "Since when did you like killing things?"_

 _I stop what I'm doing and turn to face him. He's looking at me as if I'm a stranger, so is Darry. Dad's just standing there. He's not moving. I slowly turn and look at all the dead ducks, there is a big pile of them._

 _Shame washes over me. I can't bring myself to look at my brothers and especially my dad. My heart is beating wildly in my chest. What have I done? What have I become?_

" _They're not human," I murmur._

 _The pile of dead ducks turn into dead bodies. I'm shaking uncontrollably. "They're not human."_

 _Lowering the rifle, my eyes drift down to my hands. They are covered in blood, I look down at them in horror. It's everywhere, blood and bodies piled on top of each other. And Johnny too, lying there so still, eyes open, staring sightlessly up at the sky._

" _Johnny!" I scream._

 _I'm pulling away at the bodies in my desperation to reach him. "Johnny! I'm sorry!" Don't be dead. Don't be dead. Please, don't be dead, I keep muttering. But no matter how many bodies I pull away I can't reach him._

 _This is all my fault. I run my bloodied hands through my hair, tugging on the ends and feeling sickened. I did this. I did this. Sobs begin to rack my body. I killed Johnny. Death is all around me. It's always going to be. I am death._

I wake up suddenly, heart thumping painfully in my chest. The lights are on. Half the ward is awake.

"Curtis had another nightmare," I hear Gary say to the nurse as she rushes to my bedside.

"Are you okay, Ponyboy?" she asks.

No, I'm not. I'm never going to be. I'm standing on the edge of a dark abyss and it's gonna swallow me whole.

"Just give me something," I manage to get out in a hoarse voice. "I don't care what, just knock me out so I don't feel."

They try to calm me down, but I'm inconsolable. In the end they give me a tranquilizer. I feel the drug take effect and eventually a calmness steals over me. My body stops trembling. Now I just feel washed out, lifeless.

I prefer it this way.

* * *

Two days later, I'm back in the shrink's office. I don't have the drip anymore. They had removed it this morning, much to my relief. The swelling has gone down in my hand which makes the doc happy. He tells me it appears the infection is healing and prescribes me oral antibiotics that I have to take for another week.

Randolph is going through my file, no doubt reading the notes the doctor had written about me this morning. Which won't be good. I've lost four pounds. I haven't felt like eating since the nightmare two nights ago. The doc threatened that if this keeps going, they'll put a tube down my throat and force feed me. Then he gives me a big lecture about smoking, how smoking can suppress your appetite. I'm only smoking a couple a day, I tell him. Which is a lie. I went through a whole packet yesterday.

I sit there, fidgeting in the chair. Randolph looks at me.

I'm not in the mood for talking.

"You had a nightmare the other night."

I just shrug as if it were nothing.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Are they about Johnny?"

My mouth goes dry. I don't say anything.

"I take that as a yes," he continues.

I frown. "They're not always about him, just sometimes he's in them."

He nods and scribbles something down.

"You've not been eating."

"I haven't felt like it."

"Because of the dreams, because Johnny is in them?"

My jaw clenches, fuck this. "I guess."

A sudden wave of nausea hits me. I grimace.

"Look," I begin. "I don't want to talk about it. Its makes it worse, not better."

"It's going to feel like that at first, Ponyboy."

I slump back in the chair, feeling resentful. Darry didn't need to harass them here about my so called fragile mental state of health after all, at this rate I probably wouldn't have ended up going back to Vietnam due to my weight. Now I have to sit through these unwanted therapy sessions.

"When you look in the mirror what do you see?" he asks.

I know I look as pitiful as Harris had jeered the other day. _It hurts my eyes to look at you._ It hurts my eyes too.

"I don't know."

"Work with me here, Ponyboy."

There's no way he's gonna let me go if I don't give him something.

"I try not to look at myself in the mirror."

It's got nothing to do with Johnny, it's to do with the war, what I had to do there.

"You don't like what you see?"

I sigh. "Yeah, I don't look crash hot presently."

I know I'm not being very helpful.

His eyes rest on my face with a thoughtful expression.

"How did you get the scar?"

I don't expect him to ask me that.

"A bullet."

He better not say I was lucky.

"You were also injured by a mine blast."

I nod.

"Did you have to kill anyone?"

My chest heaves. "Yeah."

"Do you have nightmares about it?"

My jaw clenches. I don't say anything. I can already tell he's taken that as a yes.

"I'm going to give it to your straight, Ponyboy. You can take it however which way you want. Right now you're angry, hurting and confused. You're still suffering guilt from Johnny's death on top of what you more than likely had to do in Vietnam. They used to cause it shell shock, now they're coming up with the term Vietnam Syndrome. It's normal for you to be feeling the way you are. The thing that concerns me the most is you're inability to deal with death."

I want to laugh at that. My inability to death with death, what the hell? That's all I've ever known.

"You feel like you somehow have to keep punishing yourself, like you don't deserve to enjoy life, because Johnny can't. You want to keep on torturing yourself for things that were out of your control."

I sit there rooted to the spot. I want to protest. What the fuck would he know? But I can't, because deep down I know he's right. Johnny's always been with me. I couldn't let him go. I have imaginary conversations with him when I visit his grave. Up until now he's always been alive in my mind … now … now he's just dead.

He's not here. He's never really been here.

I take a deep pained breath.

"I just want the nightmares to stop," I say bleakly. "I was fine before I went to Vietnam. Sure I had problems with my appetite, but I did all right. I'm sure once I'm back home it'll get better again."

"More than likely it will, but right now it's not, and it's the now I'm concerned about."

There's a knock at the door. Much to my relief.

"That'll be the nurse," Randolph says. "Remember what I said and Ponyboy, even though you don't feel like it, make yourself eat."

* * *

Emma is waiting at the door. I've barely seen her these last two days. I wouldn't blame her for avoiding me. What I had said – she hadn't deserved it.

"I'm sorry about the other day," I murmur on the walk back to the ward. "I was too harsh."

"It's okay, I probably shouldn't have said what I did."

"No, you were right. I was being an ass."

A pretty smile crosses her face. "Sometimes you can be, but for the most you're not. I bet you were real sweet once, like the boy in the photograph."

"I don't know that boy anymore," I murmur out loud without meaning to.

Oh, shit. Did I really just say that?

"What was he like?" she wistfully asks.

She's the most unusual girl at times, but I don't mind.

"He always had his head in the clouds," I lightly say. "Darry used to get so frustrated with him. He'd wish the boy learned to use his head more often, instead of having that same head buried in a book."

Her smile widens, her eyes are so warm.

"You know," she begins. "I don't think you've lost as much of yourself as you think you have."

She's wrong, but I don't bother to correct her.

"You stood up for me against Harris. You knew how uncomfortable it made me feel hearing those crass remarks, and you willingly offered to go back to the ward so I wouldn't have to hear any more of them."

Her words surprise me.

"I guess some things are too deeply ingrained in me," I slowly reply.

Curiosity flickers in her eyes.

"Maybe, but you're sort of different to most of the other guys. Quiet, and not remotely crass, and you don't flirt."

"Yeah, I've never been much good at that. My brother Soda, on the other hand, just knew what to do. He has all the girls chasing him. He's really good looking."

She's surprisingly easy to talk too, and she makes a pleasant distraction from therapy, that always leaves me feeling so raw afterwards.

"So are you," she blurts out, and her face reddens.

Yeah, right, I snort. Maybe once, before going to Vietnam. Not now. I raise an inquiring eyebrow.

"Are you flirting with me," I quip.

She laughs and shakes her head, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I suck at that too."

* * *

The days go by surprisingly quicker than I thought they would, especially after I no longer have to take anymore antibiotics. The infection is gone, my hand is healing.

I'm moved out of the ward and into the base quarters, where I share a room with three other guys. They're all right. We get along. I have a tendency to keep to myself.

I'm still going to therapy once a week, but I've figured out how to say enough to keep Randolph happy. I kinda don't mind the guy.

I'm back working, doing light duties, basically stocking cupboards with medical supplies, or helping out in the ward. At first I only work four hours a day, five days a week till my strength builds up. I finally have the cast removed and I'm able to use my right hand. It's horribly scarred and stiff. I still have to wear a brace on it but at least I can write, though it's a painfully slow process. I write letters to Soda and Darry. I have more to tell them now. I also write to Two-Bit. I tell him about Emma, the uselessness of therapy and work.

I manage not to drink, only because I'm taking Valium to help me sleep at nights. It keeps the nightmares at bay, but I still get them once or twice a week. They always end the same way, with Johnny being dead. I don't know if it's my minds way of accepting his death? Or guilt for not only him dying, but killing the boy. My dreams seem to mix the two of them up.

I generally end up popping another Valium, which I'm not supposed to do, but it's better than sculling down a bottle of bourbon. I pay for it the following day. I'm drowsy, and I can't focus. I put the medical supplies in the wrong places, the nurses get frustrated with me and tell me to go back to my bed, sleep it off.

As for the smoking, I don't have that under control at all. I smoke a hell of a lot, probably 40 cigarettes a day, some days 50 if I'm not working. I no sooner put one out and light another one.

I think I'm gonna have to cut down by the time I go home as Darry won't be happy.

" _It's no wonder you're not gaining any weight," Emma had chided the other day._

I see her often. We sit outside at the barbecue pit under the pine trees and talk about home. Those evenings are pleasant. For a while, I can forget about war.

And Emma's right. I've barely gained any weight, except maybe a couple of pounds. Darry's not gonna be happy about that either. But I still have time.

So I thought I did, but the day I'm due to fly home comes about all too quickly and suddenly it's here. Tomorrow.

I'm gonna be flying home tomorrow.

The reality of it hasn't sunk in.

This will be my last night in Japan.

* * *

Emma wants to meet up at our usual hang out after dinner. She tells me she has a surprise for me. I'm not sure what to make of that.

The surprise turns out to be chocolate cake. I should have known. She had remembered what I had said just before my operation. I remember her asking me what I like to eat. It's typically Emma.

"My last ditch attempt to fatten you up," she grins and hands me a large piece of cake.

"You'd get along with my brother," I tell her.

We sit down at a table to eat the cake with our fingers.

"At least I know you are going to be well nagged when you get home," she quips.

I feel a smile tilt up the corners of my mouth. "Yeah, you better believe it. And what is it with the oldest being so bossy?"

A tiny smile touches her lips. "It comes with the territory."

A take a bite of the cake. It's taste amazing. I've not had cake this good in a long long time. I find myself eating all of it.

"You make the best cake."

She looks happy. I like it when she smiles and laughs, it makes me think the world is still normal after all.

"Last night, Ponyboy. You must be excited."

"To tell you the truth, I'm a bit scared."

Her dark brown eyes, filled with curiosity, meet mine. "Why?"

"What are my brothers gonna think when they see me. I'm still 30 pounds lighter than when I last left home and I was already too thin then. They're gonna ask me about the scar of my face. I've never told them about it. Not to mention all the other scars. And I know I have both my legs and arms and I'm lucky, because I hear that all the time and it's true, but they're my brothers, they'll notice every little change about me." I draw in a deep breath. "I'm not the same person."

Her faces softens. She reaches a hand across the table and lightly squeezes my fingers.

"I think they'll be so happy to have you home they won't care if you're a bit different. I'm sure with time, you'll be you again."

She's probably right about my brothers, but I already know I'll never be me again. I don't tell her that. I squeeze her fingers back. This is about as intimate as we ever get. I don't feel even remotely interested in sex, and she's a good catholic girl. But I like what we have. It's simple and uncomplicated. It's what I need right now.

* * *

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Randolph had told me to do it every day. _And_ _tell yourself that it isn't your fault. Tell yourself that your life was worth saving._

Yeah, as if, I snort. I take a deep breath and meet my own eyes in the mirror. The same grey green eyes stare back at me. They've not changed, though they seem larger in my too thin face. I figure they'd be empty and hollow, but they're not.

I can only imagine what Darry and Soda are gonna be thinking when they see me.

I take a deep breath. Today is that day. Time to go home, Ponyboy.

You've served your time. Done your duty.

Picking up my duffle bag, I close the door behind me and walk across the compound to the front gates. I stop by the hospital to say goodbye to Emma.

We pass each other in the long wooden corridor, stop and stare for a brief moment. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. Next thing I know, she is in my arms. I hold her tightly, breathing in the scent of her hair. My lips brush against her forehead.

"I'm going to miss you," she murmurs in my shirt.

She lifts her face to mine. I feel an unusual tenderness take hold.

"I'll miss you too and thanks Emma, for being my friend."

Her lips press against mine in a light and tender kiss.

"Get better," she murmurs. "Don't smoke too much."

I watch her walk away, wondering if I'll ever see her again. Probably not. There's something I have to tell her before I go.

"Emma," I call and she turns around.

"I was lying when I said you won't make a difference."

A sad, wistful smile crosses her face. "I know."

She gives me a wave with her hand and disappears into my old ward.

I turn around and continue down the corridor. I can't account for the funny ache in my chest.

* * *

It's a 14 hour flight to San Francisco. Once again I'm back at the Oakland Army Base to be processed out of the Army. This had been my last pit stop before leaving for Vietnam. It seems a whole other lifetime ago. I remember thinking if I'd ever see home again. I remember walking across the tarmac at the Ton Son Nhut Air Base. I remember the infantrymen, they were skinnier with sunken eyes. I remember thinking if I'll end up looking like them after a year … and I do.

I feel strange. The sun is bright, there's a warmth in the breeze as it caresses my face. The air smells fresh.

I'm standing on home soil. I must be dreaming? I can't be home. It doesn't feel like home.

Someone nudges me in the arm.

"Get moving, Curtis."

My feet move and I find myself inside the big hangar. I almost expect Two-Bit to be by my side.

" _Thank god that's fucking over," he'd say._

* * *

I'm advised to wear civilian clothing from here on out. They provide me with the clothing. A pair of plain navy blue trousers and grey shirt. The clothes hang loosely on me.

Great, I inwardly moan. I looking fucking great. Least they gave me an equally grey jacket, which I put on. I try to cover every square inch of my skin to cover up the red welts of scaring. I don't want Darry and Soda to see them. I'm glad it's still going to be cool in Tulsa.

"Don't expect a warm welcome home." I'm told.

I don't expect one. I read a lot of newspapers from home in my last few weeks in Japan. I know were accused of being murderers, rapist, baby bashers and a whole host of other things.

When did the world get so crazy?

* * *

By the time I reach my home town of Tulsa, it's nearly six in the evening. I'm tired. I'm disorientated. I feel like I've stepped into the twilight zone. Everything that was once familiar looks alien to me now.

I step off the bus. Even though it's late March, the evening cold air is chilly. I just stand there, duffle bag slung over my shoulder, not knowing what to do. What now? Do I turn left, or do I turn right. It seems I do neither, because out of nowhere I see my brothers.

It's the first familiar thing I've seen since arriving back in the states. It's the moment I've both dreaded and longed for. They're a sight for sore eyes.

Soda speaks first. "Ponyboy?"

I see the apprehension in his eyes, as if he's asking if it's really me. A lump settles in my throat, tears burn at the back of my eyes.

"Soda," I croak.

I find myself caught up in his warm embrace. "Oh, my god. Pony. Pony. Ponyboy."

He's sobbing. Then he's stroking my hair, touching my face as if to reassure himself that I'm really here.

"You're finally home."

My heart hammers against my shirt. I am home. I'm really home.

"Quit smothering him, Soda," I hear Darry say.

Soda moves away and I look up at Darry. Soda might look the same, but Darry looks as if he's aged ten years. He's crying. I rarely see him cry. The last time had been in the hospital, when he'd thought he'd lost me like mom and dad. The lump in my throat increases.

His hand rests on my shoulder. "Ponyboy," is all he says as he ruffles my hair.

My vision blurs with tears. He pulls me into his arms.

"It's all right kiddo. You're back now. You ain't ever leaving us again."

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading and leaving all the reviews on the last chapter! I love reading all of your reviews, they really make my day and inspire me to continue with this story. I love hearing what people think. I especially love hearing about the parts you enjoyed most about the chapter. I'm most curious to hear what you think of Emma as a character.

Pony is finally home! I know that last scene is short, but there's plenty of angst to come next chapter.

I just realized that this story is basically in three parts. The first part is Pony being drafted into the war, going through basic training and the fear of going to war. The second part is Pony at war and his experiences there. The third part, the part yet to come, is going to be about how Pony adjust to being back home.

I'm looking forward to writing it!

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	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** The next chapter is here in the third and final part of this story! This chapter was a difficult one to write, Pony's first night home. I had all sorts of problems with it. I've broken a little from tradition as this chapter is told from all three brother's first person narrative. It's mostly from Soda's POV, some from Pony's POV and a little from Darry's. I hope it's not too jarring.

Thanks for all the reviews to date! They do make my day.

Merry Christmas to all!

Enjoy! Okay, you might need to have some tissues on hand.

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 21.**_

* * *

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I almost don't recognize my own brother. First of all, I was expecting him to be wearing the Army uniform. And I know Two-Bit warned us about how thin he was, but it still came as a big shock. When I hugged him, there was nothing to him. It almost breaks my heart. I have to touch his face to reassure myself that it's really him, he's home and not a figment of my imagination.

He looks tired. I notice the scar on his cheek. I remember Two-Bit telling us in a letter that Ponyboy had to have a couple of stitches to his face, but the scar must be four inches long and that's a lot more than a couple of stitches. His face is gaunt, and his eyes are full of uncertainty.

I'm drowning in a sea of emotion I can't bring myself to express. I have to pull myself together, for Ponyboy's sake.

"Quit smothering him, Soda," I hear Darry say.

I manage to make myself move away, watching the emotions play on Pony's too thin face as Darry ruffles his hair and pulls him into his arms.

"It's all right kiddo. You're back now. You ain't ever leaving us again."

Tears track down Pony's cheeks. A look of pure relief crosses his face. Was Pony that scared of seeing us again? Did he even think we'd reject him? The thought makes my heart break even more. I can't begin to imagine what he's been through, and I don't want too. I'll end up a sobbing heap on the ground if I do. I'm still struggling to keep a grip at the sight of him.

It's rare to see Darry so choked up. We've spent the last year worrying if we'll ever see our younger brother again, everyday dreading hearing that knock on the door.

All I can think is that I don't have to worry about it anymore. I can go to sleep tonight knowing Ponyboy is home with us, in the same house, safe and sound in his bed. It's over. It's finally over.

Darry's hands rest on Pony's shoulders as he assesses him. If I'm shocked by Pony's thinness, I can only imagine what sort of torture Darry's putting himself through. He always blames himself for how Pony turns out. _I should have done more. I should have forced him to go to College, then this never would have happened. He wouldn't have been drafted. What would dad have done in this situation? If dad were here Pony wouldn't have felt obligated to work at the bank so I could go to College._

I always try to reassure Darry that he's doing a great job bringing up Pony, and that he's only human too, like any parent, can't get it right all of the time, and Ponyboy does have a mind of his own.

The uncertainty and wariness is back in Pony's eyes.

"Don't say it," he mutters. "I know I'm too thin, and I look pitiful."

The last word has me reeling. _Pitiful_ \- Is that what he's think? Why would he think that?

Darry frowns. "Too thin, yes. Pitiful," his voice catches in his throat. "No."

He puts an arm around Pony's shoulders. "Let's get you home, kiddo."

"You know, Darry," Pony begins. "You can't keep calling me Kiddo, I'm 19."

"You'll always be kiddo to me," Darry says gruffly.

A ghost of a smile crosses Pony's face and gives me some cheer. Whatever horror's Pony's had to face, he's home now. We can help him get past it. He'll eat better, put weight on, start to like himself again and be his old self. I know these things don't happen overnight, but we'll get Pony through it.

I guess, in hindsight, I was being a bit too optimistic. I really had no idea just how bad of an experience Pony had had. I would soon find out that Pony recovering from that war was never going to happen anytime soon. That my brother would be irrevocably changed. And that there would be changes I'd find hard to take. There would be times when I'd want to yell at the Army – _what have you done to my brother! Give him back to me, whole and intact, like he used to be!_

There would be times, I'd cry myself to sleep. But I don't know any of that, yet. For now, I live in the moment.

* * *

Pony is quiet in the truck on the way home. He looks so lost and out of it. Darry and I exchange a concerned glance. It's a far cry from when he last returned home after his Advanced Infantry Training. He'd been happy then, and talkative.

"You're quiet Ponyboy," Darry pipes up.

"Sorry," he returns. "Just hard to process being home. Everything feels … sort of not real."

"It'll take a few days to adjust," Darry reassures.

"Have you seen Two-Bit lately?" he asks. "Is he home yet?"

"Not yet. We visited him about two weeks ago," I tell him.

"How's he holding up?"

Better than you. He's been eating, putting the weight he'd lost in Vietnam back on. Pony's had several months in Japan, you'd think he would have gained some weight during that time.

But knowing my brother, it's not surprising. It's been an ongoing issue since Johnny died, not that I understand why. It was so long ago now.

"You know, Two-Bit. He jokes and makes light of everything. He doesn't act much different."

Though I see it in his eyes, a certain hardness and bitterness that wasn't there before. I wonder if Ponyboy will be the same. As of yet, I can't tell.

"What was the flight like?" I ask him.

"Long," he sighs. "Didn't get much sleep."

* * *

It only takes ten minutes to get home. We clamber out of the truck. Darry goes inside to check on the dinner. I grab Pony's bag. When I turn to look at him. He's standing so still, staring up at the house as if it's been many years since he'd last seen it and not just one.

"Hey, Pony," I begin. "Looks just the same, huh?"

He nods and sighs. "Yeah."

I notice the reflective expression on his face.

"You all right?"

"Just wasn't sure if I'd ever see it again."

There's a wistful note to his voice. It must seem so odd to him. Once again, I can't imagine what he's feeling. I've never been away from home.

"Let's go inside."

He hesitates.

"I just need a moment and a cigarette, I'll be in shortly."

I don't want to leave him, but I can tell he wants to be alone.

"I'll take your bag inside."

He doesn't acknowledge me, slowly pulls a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one. Reluctantly, I turn away and go inside.

"Where's Pony?" Darry asks as I walk through the kitchen.

"Outside having a cigarette," I reply in passing.

I walk down the hallway to Pony's room, ignoring the ache in my chest. I don't know why it's there. Pony's so quiet, too quiet and it unsettles me. Leaning against the door frame of his bedroom, I remind myself he was like this after Johnny had died too, out of it, unfocused. He'd been like it for months.

Taking a deep breath, I return to the kitchen just as Pony walks in, smelling of cigarettes.

He glances from me to Darry, that same uncertainty in his eyes.

"I'm just gonna go have a shower and get out of these clothes."

They are kind of drab, not the usual type of clothes Pony would wear.

"Why are you not in uniform?" I ask.

"They advised us not to, said we could get harassed and not to expect a hero's welcome."

My jaw clenches. "It's not right," I blurt out loud. "You didn't ask to go there."

"But we're not heroes." I don't miss the sudden bleakness in his eyes. "You just do what you have to do to survive."

I watch him leave the room, his words haunting me. There was a certain sort of starkness to them. Turning slowly, I look at Darry. He's just standing there in the kitchen, not moving. My eyes rest on his face. He looks as bleak as Ponyboy did a moment ago.

We stand there is silence. I watch Darry, clench and unclench his jaw. I know he's been putting on a false bravado for Pony's sake.

"I guess it's gonna take some adjustment for him being back home," I finally murmur.

Darry's eyes are a stormy grey when he glances at me.

"He's different," he mutters. "I can see it, like with Two-Bit, only Two-Bit's better at acting as if nothing's changed."

"It'll get better. He's only just got home."

Darry sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's going to be tough for him."

I rub at the ache in my chest. "I expected him to be happier about it."

"Maybe it's not sunk in yet," Darry returns, grabbing three plates and putting them on the bench.

"I was shocked by how thin he is."

The plates nearly slam down on the bench, Darry's jaw clenches, again.

"That's an understatement," he mutters.

I don't say anything more, knowing how much of a sore spot it is with Darry.

Ponyboy returns to the kitchen smelling of soap. His damp hair sticks up in short tufts. He's wearing jeans and a bulky windcheater. The clothes swim on him. Seeing him home again, in the kitchen like no time has passed brings a lump to my throat. Only it has, and everything is different now.

"How was the shower?" I ask him.

"Good, water was hot for a change."

"That's because I told Soda not to use up all the hot water," Darry says, placing the plates on the table.

"What's for dinner?" Pony asks.

"Beef hot pot."

He sits down in his usual spot. "Great, I'm starving."

* * *

I don't mean to stare, but I just can't help it. Seeing Ponyboy at the dinner table, cutting his food with a knife and fork after a whole year is … sort of surreal. Strange, in that as much as he looks the same, yet, he also looks different. Older. World weary and painfully thin. He's not smiled since his been home. I know it's only been an hour, but still … it's all wrong. His right hand is badly scarred and just like his face, I hadn't expected it to be that bad though I should have, Two-Bit did tell us his hand was busted up.

He glances my way, fork stopping halfway to his mouth, eyes questioning.

"Can't help staring at you, Pony. It's been a year since I've last seen you at the dinner table."

A year since I've last seen him at all.

"You never told us about the scar on your face," Darry mentions.

Pony slowly lowers his fork to the table, a wary expression crossing his face.

"It's um..." He clears his voice. "It's from a bullet. It grazed my cheek."

Darry stiffens, the same sudden shock I'm feeling registering on his face. He came that close to death!

"It's okay," he hurriedly adds, then shrugging. "It doesn't matter now and whatever you do, don't say I'm lucky. Sick of hearing that."

He goes back to eating as if it's nothing. I'm still reeling. Why didn't he write it in a letter? What else hasn't he told us?

"So what's been happening at home?" he asks.

Darry and I fill him in, I can tell he's only half listening.

* * *

Surprisingly, Pony ate everything on his plate. He must have been telling the truth when he said he was hungry. I can see this makes Darry happy.

Once he's finished eating he glances at me, then Darry. I see the hesitation in his eyes.

"I know you both have a lot of questions," he begins, taking in a breath. "So I'm gonna tell you some things I probably should have written and told you about."

Both Darry and I go still, bracing ourselves for it.

"I had to have a couple of operations on my hand. I know it looks bad. I got an infection in the bones, which has cleared up, so it's fine now. Though, I will need to have another operation in about a year to remove screws and stuff they had to put in there to help the bones heal."

Two-Bit had already told us, though not the infection part, but I want to hear it from Pony. I need to.

"Was it from shrapnel?" I ask.

He nods, his expression guarded. "Yeah. I had several pieces of shrapnel from the bouncing betty mine."

' _It ain't pretty'_ , Two-Bit had told us _, 'he had to have a lot of stitches. He'll have a lot of scarring'._

My heart thumps painfully in my chest.

Pony takes a deep breath. "I had to have … some …" He seems to reconsider for a moment. "Quite a lot of stitches to patch me up, mostly to the right side of my body, but I got off lightly. I was the least injured out of the six of us."

I already know this, though not the part about there being six of them. My stomach churns. Hearing it from Ponyboy's lips just makes it hurt all over again. I can't imagine it. I don't want to. My poor brother. It must have been hell for him. I have a mental image in my head of him lying on the ground in pain. Did he suffer much? He must have been terrified. I quickly block it out, because the thought makes me feel wretched. I want to ask about the other five guys, but given Pony's pained expression, I quickly change my mind.

"I gotta have a smoke," he mutters.

He abruptly stands up and leaves the table.

Both Darry and I sit there in shocked silence, hearing the front door bang. I don't bother to fight back the tears.

It's not just the thought of what he went through that bothers me, but what he would have seen. Two-Bit's words come back to haunt me, ' _he's one lucky son of a bitch to get off as lightly as he did. Going through something like that messes with ya head. Why did I survive, why didn't the guy next to me?'_ It's so obviously messed with Pony's head. I can see it in his eyes.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Least he's told us himself," Darry mutters, clearing the dishes from the table.

He moves robot like to the sink.

"Pull yourself together, Soda. You don't want Pony to catch you crying."

I swipe at the tears. He's right. I don't. Once, it wouldn't have mattered, but now … now it does.

* * *

The emotions swirl around inside of me. Unlike Soda, I'm good at not showing it. I feel a lot of anger that any of this had to happen to Ponyboy. Right now I feel like punching something to release it. Soda cries. I hit, or yell. But I can't do either. Instead I scrub the dishes with a vengeance.

Soda's disappeared to the bathroom. I hear the front door open. I glance up at Ponyboy's carefully guarded expression.

He reaches for the tea towel and starts drying the dishes.

"You don't have to do that. It's your first night home."

"I want to," he returns. "Try and feel normal again."

 _Feel normal again_ , his words make my jaw clench. "You will."

He doesn't look reassured.

"It'll just take time, Ponyboy."

"I know," he sighs.

I turn my head to look at him. I've done nothing but worry about this kid since mom and dad died. It's hard to let go. It's hard to accept what is out of my control. And Ponyboy getting sent to Vietnam was something I could have controlled if only I made him go to College full-time. He wouldn't be standing there, thin as a rail, gaunt looking, scarred and broken. I no longer see the dreamy bright eyed kid. I know longer see the light in his eyes.

My eyes rest on the scar to his cheek. Without thinking, I raise a hand and brush a finger lightly across the scar.

He flinches.

My hand drops to my side.

"Why didn't you tell us, Ponyboy?"

His shoulders stiffen.

"Didn't know how," he replies, eyes hooded. "Didn't want to worry you."

"That doesn't matter."

He continues wiping the dishes. I inwardly sigh. He shoots me a quick, resentful look.

"Don't pity me, Darry. I got off lightly. I don't deserve it."

 _He doesn't deserve it_ … what is with that?

"I don't pity you," I get out through clenched teeth. "Hell, Ponyboy. You're my brother. I care."

The plate he's drying slips out of his hand and smashes on the floor.

"Fuck," he swears. "I'm sorry, Darry. Just my hand gets awfully cramped at times."

He goes to bend down.

"I got it, Ponyboy."

He ignores me and begins to pick up the broken pieces. I crouch down to help him.

"Go get the dustpan and brush before you cut yourself."

The words are out before I even have the chance to hold them in. I mentally berate myself.

"I'm not a kid, Darry."

"I know."

"You still talk like I am."

"Habit."

A brief smile tilts up the corners of his lips, before vanishing. I'd give anything to see him smile again, a real heartfelt smile. Something tells me he hasn't smiled in a long while. I hate this. I hate seeing what the war has done to him.

"I'll go get the dustpan and brush," he says and disappears out of the room.

He returns a moment later, hands me the dustpan.

"What happened?" Soda asks.

"I dropped a plate," Pony returns.

Soda smiles and ruffles Pony's hair. "Still a klutz, Pony."

Pony shrugs. "I guess some things don't change," he quips.

This almost feels normal.

"I brought some beers to celebrate your return home," Soda begins lightly. "You want one?"

Pony hesitates for a moment, before saying, "Okay."

* * *

I look at the can of beer in my hand. It's been ages since I had a beer. During my last week in Japan the doc had weaned me off the Valium as one of the side effects is loss of appetite. I haven't had a Valium for two days and I sorely wish I had some. But for the first time tonight, I felt hungry. Maybe the pills had suppressed my appetite a bit.

"I'll take over drying the dishes, Pony," Soda says. "You go enjoy the beer."

I nod. "I'll just be out the front."

"I'll join you shortly."

Eating dinner has given me some energy. I don't feel quite so out of it. I look up to find both of my brothers staring at me, again. They've been doing that a lot, it's a bit unnerving. Not that I blame them. It has been a whole year.

I've changed. I think they are struggling with it. Darry's jaw clenches a lot, his eyes stormy with unsaid emotion. Soda looks like he's trying not to cry. And I don't know what to say to them.

Maybe, having a beer will relax me.

I turn around and go outside. I sit down on the old beat up sofa. Nothing's changed here. It's exactly as I last saw it.

Everything's the same.

Just, I'm not.

I don't feel. I want to feel happy. I want to feel joy at being back home. But I just feel flat, lifeless. At the same time I want to be with my brothers, I just don't want to talk much. What's there to say?

I chug back half the can of beer, fumble for a cigarette and light it. The beer tastes good. I've missed it.

Hearing the front door open, I glance sideways to see Soda, looking unsure.

"Do you want to be alone?"

I shake my head. "No."

I pat the couch. A smile crosses Soda's handsome face. He's still good looking, wholesome like and intact. I've not see much of that in a while. Everyone was so jaded in Vietnam.

Darry joins us five minutes later. All three of us sit on the couch, just like old times.

"You mentioned Emma quite often in your letters," Soda speaks.

Emma. It's strange how I miss our chats in the evenings. It was easier to talk about home with her than actually being home. It seems like a whole other world there.

"Tell us about her," Soda asks.

I can do that. I can talk about Emma. It's safe territory.

I tell them all about her. How she has two younger brothers. Her mom is Italian and her dad American. She's catholic and goes to mass on Saturday nights. I talk about how we became friends and talked a lot about home.

"What does she look like?" Soda asks.

"Blondish hair that's not out of a bottle, the sort Two-Bit likes."

Though I don't know how long her hair is. I never saw it loose. It was always tied back in a bun.

"She has dark brown eyes like yours, Soda," I continue.

Eyes full of warmth, life and kindness. I could stare into them for ages, almost remembering what it felt like to be human again.

"Is she pretty?"

Had I ever noticed? I picture her face. She had nice lips and when she smiled, her whole face lit up.

"Yeah … in her own unique way."

I look up to see Soda grinning. I frown.

"You sound like you really like her."

"Not that way," I hastily return. "She's more Two-Bit's type."

Physically, but I think Two-Bit would be too much for her to handle.

"You know, curvy."

She sometimes moaned about it. _Too curvy_ , she'd say. She wished she was slimmer, maybe the guys wouldn't harass her so much. She didn't like the attention, wasn't used to it. In high school she'd been a lot heavier. Boys never looked twice at her then. She'd lost weight so she could join the nurse's corp.

We talked quite a lot about our past, family, friends and school days. I told her about being a greaser. How our trademark was longish greased back hair. That had amused her. She liked me talking about the differences between greasers and socs, about the social divide. I even told her about the night Johnny stabbed Bob. That we jumped on a train and hid out in an old abandoned church and disguised ourselves.

I could talk to her about those things, I think because she had been in the doctor's room the day he mentioned it all, so she already knew. She'd seen me at my worst.

We'd sit on the grass, stare up at the stars and just talk. For a little while, I'd feel at peace. It's the only time I ever did.

"Earth calling to Pony," Soda quips.

I blink and look at him.

"Must be some good memories?"

"Yeah, they were. She was easy to talk too."

"Still a virgin then?"

I think of Cherry. Those few shared moments together.

"No," I reply.

Soda's mouth drops open. It almost brings a smile to my lips.

"I didn't have sex with Emma, it was another nurse at China Beach."

I'm not about to give them the details.

"What's with you and nurses, Ponyboy," Darry frowns.

"I don't know."

Soda's hand rests on my shoulder.

"Good for you, Pony, finally lost your virginity."

I've lost a lot of things, I think sadly. Too much.

* * *

It's reassuring to hear Pony talk. And he talks openly about Emma. He says they're just friends, but I can tell he likes her. It's the first time since he's been home that I've seen a flicker of warmth in his eyes. If I ever meet this Emma, I'm gonna thank her personally.

It's comforting to know that not all of his experiences were bad. I'm curious to know about this nurse who stole Pony's virginity, but he doesn't mention her.

"Just a one night stand thing," he mumbles before taking a swig of beer.

Which I don't get, because I can't imagine Pony being the one night stand kind of guy.

We chatter away, mostly me and Darry, but I can see Pony is actually listening now.

He's more relaxed after a couple beers. Maybe things are gonna be okay. He just needs to get used to being home again.

* * *

I spoke too soon and my brief reprieve is short lived. I'm woken up at two in the morning to Ponyboy's screams. It's so loud that I'm convinced someone is murdering him.

I go bolting into his bedroom, heart pounding in my chest, almost colliding with Darry in the hallway.

I switch the light on to Pony's room. He's tossing and turning in his bed, face screwed up in pain.

Darry hurries to Pony's bedside, lightly shaking him.

"Ponyboy!"

I hear the sense of urgency in his voice.

Pony doesn't respond.

"Wake up, Ponyboy! You're dreaming."

"I killed him. I killed him," he keeps muttering over and over in an anguished voice. "I didn't mean to kill him."

My heart sinks. Killed who? Did he kill someone over there? Of course he would have, you idiot. The thought makes me feel sick in the pit of my stomach.

Darry shakes him harder. "Ponyboy!"

He suddenly sits bolt upright. Eyes unseeing and full of torment.

It hurts just to look at him.

He scrambles out of bed, panicky and scared. "Where the fuck am I?!"

Darry holds up his hands as if taming a wild horse.

"Easy, Ponyboy. You're home."

He's shaking like a leaf. His gaze flits to Darry.

"It's me, Darry and Soda."

His eyes dart from Darry to me, and back to Darry. I see the sudden realization take hold. He all but collapses on the bed, curling up into a fetal position.

Managing to finally make my legs move, I rush to his bedside.

"It's all right, Pony," I soothe, stroking his hair, which is damp from sweat.

He's trembling uncontrollably. I wanna cry.

"It's gonna be all right."

"No it's not," he gulps, his breathing ragged. "It's never gonna be right again."

His words tear a piece from my heart.

"Don't say that, Pony. It just feels like that for now."

I continue stroking his hair, knowing it always soothed him in the past. Then I notice the red, angry scar that runs from his temple to the base of his skull. I hadn't noticed it before, because his hair covered it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Is that from shrapnel? It has to be. It could have killed him. How close has he come to dying? Nearly being shot, caught up in a mine blast and god knows what else.

My mouth goes dry and the tears I tried to fight back, trickle down my cheeks.

I look up at Darry, who is white as a sheet, his face grim.

"Soda," Pony murmurs in a strained voice. "You're gonna hate me now."

My hand freezes.

"Never, Pony … I could never hate you. Why do you say that?"

I feel my skin begin to crawl with a slow dread.

"Because … I killed a boy … he was just there." His face contorts in distress. "I wasn't expecting it."

My bones turn to solid ice. He killed a boy … Pony … a raw pain tears through me. Say something. I have to reassure him.

"It's self-defense, Pony."

It has to be. I can't imagine it being anything else.

His next words chill me. "I killed Johnny too."

Darry sags against the wall.

"You didn't kill Johnny," I try to reassure Pony.

But I can see he's too racked with pain to listen.

"He doesn't talk to me anymore. He won't look at me."

My heart twists into a knot. I can't bear seeing him like this, hearing his tortured words. How can I help him? I do the first thing that comes to mind. I lay down next to him and pull his bony frame into my arms, holding him tightly.

"C'mon, Pony. You're gonna make yourself sick. You're not to blame."

He's still shaking, but his breathing is beginning to even out. I hear Darry leave the room, I can only imagine what's going through his head. I'd talk to him, if I could. But I can't leave Pony alone like this.

* * *

I have to get out of there. I can't handle seeing Ponyboy suffering. Soda was always better at dealing with that. I rake a hand through my hair, Pony's words haunting me, _I killed a boy._

The thought of Pony killing anyone … Ponyboy who risked his life to save those children from a fire … having to be forced into a position of killing a kid. What that must have done to him. It makes me so angry. I don't know how to let the anger out. Mixed with the anger is a deep searing pain. What other unimaginable horrible things did he have to do over there? My throat aches at the thought.

I remember the last time I picked him up at the bus depot, when he'd finished his training. I remember the happy light in his eyes. I remember how chatty he was at the dinner table. I remember hoping that I'd never see the light go out in his eyes.

And now it has.

My worst fears have become realized.

Pony's been too hell with an enemy trying to kill him, and him, forced to kill. _We're not heroes. You just do what you have to do to survive._ But at what cost? Because I can see it's cost my brother everything that he was.

How do you get over something like that? Will Pony. Can he? I hope to god, because the thought of my youngest brother living with the torment of his actions … actions that could possibly destroy him, _if it hasn't already_ – is too much to bear _._

I run a hand over my face, feeling utterly anguished. All my anger leaks out of me, and I sit heavily on the single seat sofa in the lounge, in the dark. The tears I worked so hard to keep at bay, fall down my face.

* * *

Shame washes over me. What the fuck have I done? If I'd been in my right mind I would never have told Soda about killing the boy. But that's the problem. I wasn't in my right mind. And my brothers were both there to witness it. It's only a matter of time. I just wish it hadn't been my first night home. I wish I could reassure them that I'm perfectly fine. But I'm not.

I can tell Soda has fallen asleep, he's lightly snoring in my ear with one arm still draped over me. It's comforting. Part of me knows that my brothers are not gonna reject me or hate me, but the other part … me … I hate myself.

My brother's don't get it. I don't expect them too. The self-hate, the anger, the guilt and the blame. They are so innocent and naive still.

I'd almost kill for some Valium right now.

I could take a couple of sleeping tablets, they won't knock me out but they might help me fall back asleep.

Carefully moving Soda's arm, I quietly slip out of bed. I rummage in my bag for the sleeping tablets. I'm only supposed to take two tablets, but I slip in a third one.

It'll take an hour before they take effect. I'm hanging out for a smoke. I grab the packet and head for the front porch.

The lamp is on when I enter the lounge room. I see Darry sitting on the sofa, reading. I go still at the sight of him. I hadn't expected him to be there, why is he? This is all my doing. I'm keeping him up, I'm worrying him, I'm making him age.

He glances up at me, his face half hidden in shadows.

Guilt hits me hard in the stomach. "I'm sorry about the nightmare. I just get them for time to time."

He closes the book, his expression unreadable.

"It's all right, Ponyboy."

But it's not. How can it be?

"It's cause I'm sleeping in a different bed. I get delusional. But it won't always be like that," I try to explain. "You know I've always had nightmares from time to time."

"Did you remember this one?"

Trust Darry to ask me that, because he knows those old nightmares I used to have I never remembered.

My heart lurches painfully in my chest."Unfortunately, yes," I mutter.

I see the raw pain in Darry's eyes.

He knows. He knows about the boy I killed. A wave of nausea hits me in the gut. I have to get out of here.

Turning on my heel, I stumble out the front door, welcoming the cold night air.

My hand shakes as I light a cigarette.

I hear the front door open and Darry's footsteps. I wish he'd leave me alone, especially when I'm like this, racked with guilt and self-loathing.

"I ain't the same," I tell him over my shoulder, unable to look at him.

"I know," he says deeply and sadly.

I screw my eyes shut. Who'd ever thought that returning home would be this tortuous? Part of me had been dreading it, because I didn't want my brothers to see how changed I was. I know how hard this must be for them. I wish I could go back, find the boy they once loved, and return him.

"I know you're struggling, Ponyboy. I know it'll take time. Just remember – you don't have to go through it alone."

But I do. They could never understand. There are things I could never tell them, except Two-Bit. Because Two-Bit was there, he had lived it. God, how I miss him.

"You should go to bed, Darry. Get some sleep," I say, not unkindly, but still a brush off all the same.

I hear him give a resigned sigh. "All right, Pony. Don't stay up too late and try not to smoke so much."

He just can't help himself, but I don't mind. I like the familiarity of it. I half turn towards him.

"Okay." I nod. "I'll try."

Darry's warm hand rests on my shoulder. I see his eyes search mine. I feel my throat grow tight. So many things are left unsaid. Indecision skitters across his face, and something else: a deep sadness.

He ruffles my hair, turns slowly, reluctantly and goes back inside.

I stand there, rooted to the spot. Part of me wants to call him back, but the other part wants to be alone. The latter part wins out. There's nothing else to be said. I can't change what's happened. I can't change what I've become. I feel a sharp sudden pain stab at what's left of my heart. I suck it up, take a deep breath and light another cigarette.

I'm home with my whole future ahead of me. A future I can't see, never allowing my thoughts to go there, just in case – just in case I never returned. And now … what the fuck do I do with the rest of my life? _It'll take time._ How much time? What if I don't change?

Eventually Darry and Soda would have to give up on me. The thought deeply disturbs me. Then there is the question that's always nagging me at the back of my mind; _will I ever be normal again?_

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you all think. I know there is no Two-Bit in this chapter and a lot of people are hanging out for Two-Bit and Pony's reunion. It most definitely happens next chapter, so stay tuned. As for Ponyboy, it get's a lot worse before it gets better.

Cheers


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N:** The moment a lot of you have been waiting for is finally here!

This chapter is from Two-Bit's POV.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 22.**_

* * *

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I'm itching to go home. I've had enough of rehabilitation. It's been three months. Three months of having to learn to get around on crutches, learning to re-balance with one leg and all the little things I took for granted before. I've had to re-learn to do every day simple tasks. Dumb things, like bending over to pick my clothes off the floor. That shouldn't be hard, but it is when you gotta re-balance your whole gait accordingly. Then there is the long list of the things I shouldn't and should be doing.

 _No hopping on your leg, you could fall_. Screw that. I hop all the time, when it's convenient. I had a few falls earlier on, sometimes I'd forget I didn't have a leg and go stand up as normal, crash to the ground. I never hurt myself, more embarrassed than anything. Then I'd joke about it, the other guys in the hospital would crack up laughing because we've all pretty much done it once or twice.

 _Make sure you put equal weight on both hips when you sit to avoid a contracture. Use firm chairs. Sit up straight._ Contracture is a bitch, that's when a joint gets stuck. That's when I have to buzz the nurse to come help me fix it. Fucking hurts too. How am I supposed to remember all the time? Stupid things like, keeping my remaining limb flat with my legs together when lying on my back. Then I'm supposed to lie on my stomach as much as possible to stretch my hip joint. Don't sit for more than an hour or two. Don't put pillows under my hips or knees or between my thighs.

They like us to keep active as much as possible which is fine by me. I'm beginning to go stir crazy from being cooped up in this place. There is only so much to do. Playing cards gets boring after a while. I watch a hell of a lot of television, too much. I never used to watch the news, and now that's all I do. I want to know what's going on.

I've never been pessimistic. But one thing I've noticed, one thing that's changed from before; I'm a lot more jaded. I think war does that to you. It hardens you to feeling emotion in the same way I did before. I can still laugh, but it's often forced.

I've always had a sense of humor, it's gotten me this far in life, maybe it's even helped me deal with what I had to do in Vietnam. A lot of guys are going through hell because of it. I see it all the time around me. I don't suffer nightmares, I don't get flashbacks, and I've not suffered the same shell shock as most guys in my ward. I'm certainly a lot more reflective. And I'm most definitely bitter. I'm not so bitter about losing my leg, but bitter about the whole pointlessness of us being in Vietnam.

Fuck the Army, and fuck the President. I don't buy into the bullshit. They're not sending us there because they're afraid of the spread of communism. It's all just lies. They keep lying all the time. It's an economic war and we're the pawns.

I think of Ponyboy, what the war has done to him. It makes me angry. Sure I've lost my leg, I'm suffering physically, but Pony is suffering mentally and that's worse.

When Darry asked me to give it to him straight, I made sure I did. I didn't care how much it shocked them. I wanted it too. They needed to know the truth. Darry needed to do everything he could to make sure Pony never goes back to Vietnam. They had no idea what that place was doing to him. I saw it with my own eyes, day after day, seeing him deteriorate. He's too young for this shit, too young to experience the horrors we had to endure.

I might not have nightmares, but I can't forget. I don't think I ever will. That stinking place is gonna stay with me forever.

I know Pony's been having nightmares, especially in our last few weeks in Vietnam. He never talked much about it, but sometimes at night, lying in the hooch, he'd start yelling in his sleep. I'd have to shove a hand over his mouth to quieten him. He'd wake up, alert as anything, we all did. We got conditioned that way.

I knew his nightmares were about the gook he'd killed. At first he would talk about it quite openly with me, but with time he stopped, as if it'd never happened.

We did a lot of killing over there. I could numb myself to it. Even Pony could after a while, and I don't know why that bothered me so much. I guess, because it was all wrong. Ponyboy was never meant to kill, hell I don't think any of us are, but some people are more affected by it than others.

The hardest thing for me was having to leave him behind in Japan. Man that nearly killed me. I was worried as all hell about him. When he showed me how bad the scarring was, I couldn't help but tear up. What the fuck! I couldn't believe they could send him back to Vietnam like that. The Army doesn't give a shit about us. All the bullshit protesters with their peace demonstrations piss me off even more. Why are they giving us soldiers the flack? What about the government, it's their fucking fault we were there to begin with. It's like I've come home to a world I no longer know. A world I'm still isolated from.

It's frustrating being stuck here. I miss the kid. Pony's always been by my side. I'd spent a year watching his back. Making sure he holds his shit together. I'm looking forward to the day I see his face again, see him in person, whole and intact. See him back in the States, back home where he belongs. He never should have been taken from it in the first place.

I think he's doing okay in Japan, but I can only judge that from his letters, which don't tell a lot.

 _I wish you hadn't told Darry so much. They all think I'm a nutcase here, been having therapy._

Good, he needs it. I hope it helps him.

He writes a lot about a nurse named Emma. That he's back working, mostly stocking shelf's. He writes about how he's looking forward to coming home.

Home won't be what he remembers either. It's tough coming back. Those first couple of weeks are disorientating. That's why I wanted to be home before Pony. To help him through it, but I'm still stuck here, and Pony must be due home any day now. Maybe he's already home.

I keep expecting him to suddenly appear. Hoping for it. But the days continue to roll along, my restlessness mounting.

I just want to get the hell out of here. Go visit a tavern and get drunk. Now and again a couple of guys smuggle a bottle of bourbon in. We go to the rec room, play cards, drink and smoke. It helps pass the time, but most days I'm bored.

Today, is no different. Another boring day of trying to get used to walking with the temporary artificial leg they'd given me a month ago. I still have to using a walking frame or crutches. They say it'll take months before I can walk unassisted and a good 12 months before the stump has stopped shrinking and stabilizes. Then I get given a permanent artificial leg. Currently, it's quicker for me to move around uses crutches without the leg than with it. When I'm wearing it, I shuffle along like an old man. But I'm told it's important to use the artificial leg as much as possible as it'll help the stump fit into place better.

Today, I'm rebelling. Fuck the artificial leg, fuck rehabilitation. I'm not in the mood for it. Instead, I grab my pack of cigarettes and head for the rec room.

"Keith Matthews," I hear the matron chide after me. "What have I told you about smoking now you've lost a leg, you need to think of your health."

I turn and wink. "That's what I'm doing." I wave the packet of cigarettes. "It's called reducing my stress levels and as you know, matron, stress is the new silent killer."

She tuts tuts in her usual way, but I place the packet back in my pocket and continue on my way before she can start on another lecture. She's an old tyrant. Someone who seriously needs to think about retiring. I'm always getting stuck with her. I think they've purposely roster the young pretty nurses to other wards, away from me. Not that I stand much of chance of getting with one of them now I have one leg. I'm gonna have to become as celibate as Pony. Even he's had more luck with girls this past year than I have. I inwardly sigh and head for the rec room.

I find the paper, sit down and begin flicking through it. I head straight for the cartoons. I need something to laugh at.

I'm only on my second cigarette when I hear the matron call, 'Keith Matthews!" from the doorway. I roll my eyes. Now what? She gonna start on at me again? Doesn't she know how pointless it is to nag me?

"You have visitors."

It must be my mom, but that's odd. She doesn't usually visit during the week. I slowly stand up, grabbing my crutches.

"Two young men called Ponyboy and Sodapop," she continues, almost snorting at their names. "Parents calling their kids crazy names," she mutters before leaving.

My heart starts pounding in my chest. Ponyboy. The blood rushes in my ears. He's home? He's here … he walks through the doorway, still thin as a rail, a stupid grin on his face. I'm suddenly overcome with emotion. The amount of times I've dreamed of this very day.

"Fuck me," I manage to exclaim. "If it ain't Ponyboy Curtis returned from the land of the living dead."

He's such a sight for sore eyes, damn, but tears blur my vision. I make a measly attempt to hold myself together.

"Didn't they fucking feed you in Japan?"

We stand there for a moment like two dummies, smiles getting wider. I don't bother fighting back the tears. I'd hobble up to him if I could, but my one remaining leg feels like jelly.

This is the day we feared talking about in case it never happened. Now it's here … we've survived the war.

"We actually fucking survived," I get out in a choked voice.

Pony, all but runs up to me, gripping me tightly by my shoulders, his eyes raking in the sight of me.

"Yeah," he breathes, tears coursing down his cheek. "We fucking survived."

I find my own gaze taking in his gaunt face, the dark rings under his eyes, but he's smiling, and I can't remember the last time I've seen him give a real genuine smile.

It makes my throat ache, but in a good way.

Securing the crutches under my armpits, I grip him by his arms, my eyes resting on his scarred hand.

"Maybe we ain't what we used to be," I begin in a shaky voice, "but we're here."

Pony nods. Tears still falling down his cheeks, he hastily wipes them away. "Didn't think it'd ever happen."

I pull his lanky frame into my arms, the crutches fall to the ground, but I don't care. I just wanna hold my best friend once again so I can believe this is real.

"Me neither."

I hold onto him like he's an anchor, grounding me as much as I do him. I feel his tears drip onto my neck. He's trembling so much it makes my gut hurt. This kid has been through hell, seen too much.

"It's all right, Pony," I soothe. "You're safe now. You're home."

"Don't feel like home," he mumbles.

I pull back to look at him. His eyes are sad and hurting. I get it.

"It's takes time."

My hip begins to ache, reminding me that I'm standing here without my crutches, placing too much weight on my right leg to compensate. Still holding onto Pony for support, I turn and look for my crutches. That's when I notice Soda. He's picked my crutches from the ground and holds them out to me. His face filled with pain. I can only imagine what he's feeling. This has to be torture for him, seeing Pony so changed.

"Hey, thanks Soda," I quickly blurt out. "Didn't see ya there."

He manages an all too brief smile. "I know you've been hanging out to see Pony again. I'll give the two of you some time alone. You probably have a lot to catch up on."

He glances at Pony and despite the ghost of smile, he looks as if all the cheer has been sucked out of him. It ain't right.

"How long have you been home, Pony?" I ask.

"Four days," he replies, wiping his cheeks and running a hand through his hair as he tries to compose himself.

Four days ain't barely any time, and I can already see it's been rough on Soda.

"I'll see you guys in about an hour," he continues.

"Thanks, Soda," Pony murmurs, not even making eye contact with his brother.

Something is definitely wrong here, it leaves me feeling unsettled and rattled.

Pony pulls out a packet of cigarettes and lights one. I continue to stare at him.

"What's going on with you and Soda?" I demand.

His expression becomes slightly wary. "Nothing."

I watch him wearily plonk himself down on a chair, puff away on the cigarette for a moment before I join him. I sit in the chair opposite, reach for my packet of smokes.

"Doesn't look like nothing."

Pony shuts his eyes. "It's just …" he lets out a breath. "He knows."

I raise an eyebrow and light a cigarette, inhaling deeply. "Knows what?"

"About the boy I killed."

What I do know is that Pony's actions that day saved all of our lives. What I don't get is why he doesn't see it. But in truth, I've never gotten that close to the gooks to run one through. I just shot at the bastards and tried not to over think it.

"I just can't look him in the eye anymore," Pony continues miserably. "They look at me differently now, how can they not? Everything is so awkward. I've changed."

"We've all changed," I tell him. "Even your brothers. The war has changed all of us. They might not have fought in it, but you have and it's affected them too."

"I didn't want it to."

I don't think Pony's changed as much as he thinks he has. He's still capable of caring about his brothers even if he's shutting them out.

"Yeah, well," I sigh, leaning back in the chair. "These things ain't in our control, Pony."

He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray, glancing at my missing leg. His jaw clenches. Knowing Pony, he's probably still blaming himself for that too.

"How's it coming along with the rehabilitation?" he asks.

"Rehabilitation is a bitch and I'm bored shitless, but I'm coping with it. Just got to, ain't much choice in that, but I also know I won't be stuck in here forever, though it feels like it. I can't wait to go home."

"I wish you were home too, it ain't the same without you there." He lights another cigarette. "Have they given you a date or anything?"

"My discharge date was same as yours, four days ago and it's only a matter of time before they boot me out and leave me to fend for myself. The Army ain't too keen about wanting to have much to do with us once they've done with us," I mutter sounding bitter.

Pony blinks, surprised.

"Too much time on my hands, kid. Nothing much else to do but watch the telly and read the paper."

"You read now?" he lightly quips, a hint of a smile tilting up the corners of his mouth.

"Smart ass."

I follow suite and light up another smoke as well, drinking in the sight of Pony sitting in that chair. He might be a bit rougher around the edges now, but hell – who ain't. I'm just relieved he's home.

"How's Darry?" I ask.

"He's aged."

"Hell, Pony, worrying about you is enough to turn anyone grey," I joke.

He snorts. "Yeah, right."

"I ain't kidding, I found a couple of grey hairs the other day when inspecting my side burns in the mirror."

Pony still looks skeptical, but at least he's not looking so miserable anymore.

"Why were you inspecting your side burns in the mirror?"

"I was contemplating on whether to grow a full beard, letting my hair grow long and becoming a hippie."

Pony raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Why?"

"You think all sorts of crazy shit when you're cooped up."

He tilts his head to the side for a moment as if considering the thought. "Aren't they pretty much jobless bums who smoke weed all day and protest civil rights?" He glances at me, a wry grin crossing his face. "Yeah, I can see you fitting into that lifestyle."

I shake my head, giving a smile. "You're in fine form today, Pony. But I think I'll swap the smoking weed all day for making my own moonshine and drinking all day."

Pony smile widens. "I think I'll join you."

"Yeah, I don't doubt it for a moment."

And it's true. Where I go, Pony is bound to follow, or, more often I go where he goes. Either way we're sort of joined at the hip, me and him. Now he's back home, I can breathe a sigh of relief. We survived Vietnam. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

"No protesting either, I hate them all. Mostly rich college kids, remind me of the Socs. Ain't them going to 'Nam and getting blown up. Only us lower working class idiots, who are getting sent out to the front lines?"

Pony draws back on his cigarette, looking thoughtful. "They told us not to wear our uniform on the bus. Not to expect a hero's welcome."

"Screw that," I mutter bitterly. "It ain't right, because you are a hero, Pony."

He shakes his head. "No I'm not."

"Yeah you are. You know if you hadn't ran out to draw the fire of those snipers that day, we all would have been killed. So that makes you a fucking hero, Ponyboy, and don't lose sight of that."

"And it you hadn't pulled me up and dragged me to the huey after I nearly got shot, I'd be dead."

"Shoot, kid. I wasn't gonna let anything happen to you." I couldn't go on without him by my side. "Darry would have killed me."

Pony glances at me, a sudden warmth in his eyes.

"How is Darry coping?" I ask.

"All right, you know Darry, he's tough and he tries to understand. So does Soda, especially when I have nightmares. He tries to comfort me like he's always done. I don't mind, at the time it helps, it just the next day … I just can't talk about it … I just want to forget."

"Don't we all," I sigh. "It'll get easier, Pony. Takes time. I've only been back three months and I'm still adjusting."

He glances at my stump again. "Does it hurt?"

"Nah, not so much now. Takes some getting used to hopping around on one leg though."

Pony frowns, and I can tell he's already beating himself up about it; again.

"It ain't so bad. I'm still better off than most of the guys on my ward. I'm not suffering from shell shock."

I light another smoke and take a good long look at him. I notice the extra lines in his skin, the caution in his manner, the shadow behind his eyes.

"But you are?" I continue.

He quickly lowers his gaze. "Mostly just nightmares, that's how Soda and Darry found out about the boy."

"Didn't you have therapy in Japan?"

He nods.

"Because you still look as thin as the last time I saw ya."

"I've been eating better since being home. I think it was the Valium I was taking that made me not want to eat."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You don't want to be taking that shit, Pony. I've seen how easily guys get addicted to drugs in this place, especially the Morphine."

"I'm not taking it now."

"Good."

I watch him fiddle with the sleeve of his shirt.

"How's the hand?"

"I nearly lost it, got an infection in it, but it's alright now, sort of. I've got good at using my left hand."

"We're a fine pair," I remark dryly. "Fucking war."

It takes its toll.

"At least we're still alive," I continue.

Pony glances sideways at me, lighting another smoke. He manages a brief smile.

"It's good to see you again. I missed you over there."

I raise an eyebrow. "But you had Nurse Emma to keep ya company."

I can't let that one slide. Once he would have blushed, but I think his blushing days are over. Vietnam has knocked out all of his innocence.

"It's not like that," he hastily returns. "Just friends."

"So tell me all about it."

I watch him talk openly about her. I sit back, drink in the sight of him once more and enjoy the moment. At last, some sort of normalcy has returned in the world. Pony talking about a girl, like it's an everyday thing.

* * *

Soda eventually comes back. I see the hesitation in his eyes as he approaches us. I need to talk to him alone.

"Hey, Pony. Do me a favor and go buy me a ham sandwich at the canteen."

Pony gives me a suspicious look. I thrust a dollar note at him.

"I'm starving."

Still eyeing me somewhat warily, he nods. Mutters something under his breath and takes the dollar.

I watch him leave with mixed emotions. Seems like letting him out of my sight for even a minute is hard when I ain't seem him in so long.

Soda's sits heavily on the chair that Pony had sat on only moments ago, looking as miserable as Pony.

"You didn't have to do that," he says.

"Yeah I do. Need to talk to you alone."

Try to ease his misery somewhat. Try to explain to him why Pony is like he is. Maybe it will help him.

"How's he been at home?" I ask.

There's a strained, haunted look on his face.

"He's quiet, doesn't say a lot," he begins. "He's so changed and it's not just his taste in music, everything about him – it's something I can't get. I don't know what to say to him half the time. I no longer know how to reach him. And it's slowly killing me on the inside. I feel it. I feel it every living moment of the day and well into the night, when he wakes up screaming from the nightmares. In the early hours of the morning I hold him. His body racked with uncontrollable sobs." He takes a deep pained breath. "I don't know how to help him."

He throws me a desperate look.

"You can't," I return with a heavy heart. I knew Pony was struggling. It looks as if he's brought the war home with him and it's gonna affect everyone around him. "Just keep doing what you're doing. It's gonna take a long while before he'll be right again. And Pony said that having you there at night, comforts him."

Doubt flickers across his face. "He said that?" He glances at me. "You seem to be doing okay."

"Yeah, but I'm a lot older too and Pony …"

"Has an over active imagination," Soda finishes for me. "That's what the doc said all those years ago when he kept having those nightmares he never remembered."

Maybe it's about time Soda knew a little bit more about what Pony did in Vietnam. I don't know how he'll react, but he needs to know.

"I'm gonna tell you about that day Pony killed the gook, because knowing Pony, he won't. He won't tell you how he saved all of our scrawny butts. He won't tell you how we hunkered down in a ditch under heavy fire from two snipers that had breached the compound. The only way to find the snipers location was for some idiot, willing to risk his life by making a suicide dash for the trees, drawing their fire. And guess what idiot volunteered to do it."

Soda went pale as a ghost. His eyes widen with shock and horror.

"You guessed it, you're foolish kid brother who loves playing hero," I mutter. "He sure is stubborn when his mind is set on something."

Talking about it makes it all too real again, all the emotions I felt that day, desperately begging Pony not to do it. _"You better survive, Pony. So help me God I'm gonna wring your scrawny neck after this."_

"I don't think I've ever prayed so damn hard as I did in that moment. Of course he survived. He's one lucky son of a bitch. But when he made it into the protection of the woods, he came face to face with a gook, who was probably 14, maybe older, it's hard to determine their ages. He acted on instinct, it was drilled into us during training, kill or be killed. He run the gook through with his bayonet before the gook had the same chance to do it to him."

It's almost as if I'm back there. I can smell the usual scent of the jungle, the napalm and the stench of BO. I can feel the humidity that saps all of your energy. I can feel the fear that radiates from all of us. I see Pony's desperate but determined face.

"Fuck," I hear Soda slowly exhale, bringing me back to present day.

The images fade as quickly as they came. I shake my head to clear it.

"It bothered him for a long while, but you hardened yourself to killing. You have to, or you end up a nut case, and plenty of guys lost it over there. When you see your buddies getting blown up you begin to hate the gooks even more. You kill without feeling, some kill out of anger, either way, killing becomes automatic, just another day in the office. You don't think about it. You have to shut down that part of yourself that feels."

I glance up to see Pony standing there, looking as white as his brother. I hadn't even realized he'd return. I numbly wonder how much he's heard of what I just said.

Soda's pain filled eyes gaze upwards to Pony, a new understanding dawning on his face.

"You killed out of self-defense, Pony, and don't you ever forget it," he stresses, eyes tearing up. "You think I care that you killed a kid, I'd rather have you here than dead."

Pony's actually looks directly into Soda's face. He blinks, a look of pure relief on his face. At least I've put something right.

But talking about the war, the fresh memories of it all has made me edgy. I don't even realize my hands are shaking till I attempt to light a smoke.

"Fuck," I mutter. "I need a drink."

Pony slowly reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a hip flask. "I brought this for you, thought you could do with it."

I take the flask from him. "You know me too well, Pony."

Soda gazes anxiously around the room. "Are you allowed to do that?"

Both Pony and I shrug at the same time.

"Everybody does it," he says.

Soda's eyes widen. Is Pony referring to himself here? Since when did he have a drinking problem? Though I ain't surprised, most of us do. I know he was smoking marijuana now and again. He used to drink with me, and more heavily as time went by.

I take a swig of the flask and hand it to Pony, who doesn't think twice about taking a swig either. He hands the flask to Soda, who looks at it warily, before shrugging.

"Might as well."

"Now this is just like old times," I say cheerily. I would have put my feet up on the coffee table if I could. Damn the things I once took for granted.

I light another cigarette.

"You know what I really want to do," I begin wistfully.

Both Soda and Pony look at me expectantly. Shit, they look so alike at times. Only Pony being like an anorexic version of Soda with darker hair and lighter colored eyes.

"Go visit a tavern like a regular person and drink beer," I continue.

A light flickers across Soda's face. "What if we sneak you out," he suggests.

"Yeah, we could do that, Two-Bit," Pony agrees.

The idea has sudden appeal. Why the hell not.

"Yeah – let's do it. Been fucking forever since I've had any fun.'

* * *

Between the two of them, they manage to smuggle me out of the hospital. I fetch the artificial leg and put on a pair of jeans. I normally live in shorts, just easier.

Pony finds this highly amusing. I elbow him in the ribs.

We somehow get pass the matron who's on the warpath.

* * *

The late afternoon sun feels warm on my face. Pony and I exchange smiles as we sit in the back seat.

An Elvis Presley tune is belting out of the radio.

Pony groans. "Change the station, Soda."

"We're not listening to The Doors," he returns over his shoulder. "That's like stoner music."

Yeah, I don't get Pony's taste in music either. But a lot of guys his age are into it. I wind the window down and shove my head out. The wind blowing through my hair makes me feel alive in a way I haven't in ages.

* * *

"It's gonna take us till sunset before we'll even get inside the damn tavern," I mutter, gripping the crutches tightly after we get out of the truck.

"I'm slower than old Jenkins who lives next door to ya."

"No one's slower than old Jenkins," Soda laughs.

It feels good to hear him laugh again. Like old times.

By the time we reach the steps. Soda gives me a rueful grin. "Okay, I take that back."

* * *

The next two hours are the best I've had in ages. We drink a lot of beer, well Pony and I do. Soda only has one as he has to drive, and it doesn't take much to get him drunk. We all smoke a lot, talk about old times and just live in the moment. A moment we all thought we might never have again. Pony smiles more than I've ever seen him since the start of our tour in Vietnam, although there is a wary edge about him, as if he's highly aware of everything going on around him. Looking for any perceivable threat. It takes a while to get past that. Being in Vietnam you always had to be alert. He begins to chill out after a few beers.

* * *

I'm beginning to think I should have eased up on the beer when we go to leave. It's harder to negotiate the crutches.

"You gonna be in trouble?" Soda asks.

"I'm always in trouble."

He grins. "It's good to know some things don't change."

* * *

Saying goodbye to Pony and Soda was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I've had a taste of freedom once again, now I'm gonna want more of it. But it's not just that. It's not being able to go home with them. It's letting Pony out of my sight again. I gonna have to stop being so protective now we're back home. He's got Darry and Soda for that. For one crazy moment I miss the nights we used to share a hooch, talk about crazy shit to pass the time and alleviate our fears.

I just about stumble backwards going up the front steps to the hospital. Pony grabs me by the arms, steadying me. His eyes catch and hold mine, a question in there depths. I already know what he's thinking, the same thing as me. Letting each other go is hard.

"I'll be fine," I tell him. "Though the matron is probably gonna chain to my bed after this."

He manages a brief smile.

"Thanks for tonight. I needed it."

"I know. So did I. Now help me up the stairs, Pony, before I fall and break my damn neck or something."

* * *

I watch them leave from the doorway, the sun setting in the sky. Pony stops at the end of the path, turns and waves, a sad expression on his face. I'm almost tempted to go AWOL. As of tomorrow I'm gonna do everything I can to get out of this place.

I raise a hand, wave back. He turns around and follows Soda. Soda flings an arm around his shoulders. They walk with such ease. I find myself almost envying them that. Then I pull myself up with a start. _You don't do self pity Keith Matthews._ Suck it up and go sweet talk the matron. Tomorrow's another day after all, and I can sleep a lot easier in my bed tonight knowing Pony is back home where he belongs.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! I know this chapter has a lot of different conflicting emotions happening in it. I tried my best to imagine what it must be like for Two-Bit and Pony. I actually really enjoyed writing this chapter and having both of them together once again. Not sure I wrote it as well as I wanted, but then I'm always far to critical of my writing. I know this chapter has some lighter moments, but the storm is far from over, it's just having a small lull for now :)

Love to hear what you all think.

Cheers and happy New Year!


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews and support for this story! As always they make my day, and I especially thank those people who have consistently reviewed this story from the get go. I also love the feedback.

This chapter is mostly written from Pony's POV, except for the last scene which is Soda's.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 23.**_

* * *

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The nightmares are relentless. I can't escape. I can't get a moments peace. I just want to shut my brain down. It's been nearly a month since I got back home. Shouldn't it be okay now? But I swear it's getting worse. Then there is the whole other issue of not being able to relate to anyone. I just don't fit in. I know it's me who has changed. I can't find any enjoyment out of everyday activities. I can't read books anymore. I don't go to the movies. I don't watch sunsets. I don't see the point of it. I spend my days hanging around the house, trying to familiarize myself. Trying to find something I might like to do. Some days I go to the local tavern, one in a neighboring town so I don't run into anyone I know and have a few beers. I avoid the streets in my own town. People ask too many questions. Depending on who it is. They'll either ask, _'you kill many of those yellow bastards over there?'_ which I never know how to answer, or view me as some sort of baby killer. I didn't go around killing babies and raping women. I know sometimes those things went on, but it never did in my platoon. We were too busy just surviving and staying in one piece. We saw a lot of combat. That was my experience in Vietnam. Yeah, I've probably killed a lot of yellow bastards. I still dream about their bodies all piled on top of each other. Only to wake up in a cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably for hours afterwards.

I can't keep letting Soda comfort me, I can already see it's taking a toll on him. He has dark rings under his eyes and is often late for work. I tell him not too. I tell him to go away, but he doesn't listen.

"Maybe you should go see a doctor about it?" he suggests when having breakfast.

"I already did in Japan. I had to have therapy because Darry told them all about mom and dad dying and then Johnny – killing Bob, the church fire and Johnny dying. He told them all of it." I can hear the resentment mixed with annoyance in my voice.

"He'd do anything to stop you going back to Vietnam," Soda says in his defense.

Shame washes over me. "I know," I sigh. "And I appreciate it – just that …" I get up from the table, grabbing my bowl. "They can't help me."

I dump my bowl in the sink.

"At least you haven't had any nightmares for the last couple of nights," Soda points out.

That's because I've resorted to drinking to deal with it. I don't tell Soda that. I'm not about to tell him I keep a stash of bourbon hidden in my closet just in case I need it.

My brothers are already aware that I drink too much. I keep beer in the fridge and drink at least six a night. Darry's says not to overdo it. Then sometimes I explode and get angry real quick. Tell him to mind his own business, I can do what I want.

There once would have been a time when he'd argue back. I wish he would, but he doesn't. He just has that sad look on his face that I've begun to hate. And it doesn't take much to set me off on a rage _. I'm not a fucking pity case_ , I often yell at them. Then I storm out of the house, slamming the front door and run till I drop to the ground in exhaustion. Cough up a lung or two from smoking so much. It's the only way I can get the rage out of me.

I hate myself afterwards. I don't know why I get like that? Then the depression sets in. I lock myself in my room and don't emerge for hours. My brothers leave me alone. They walk on egg shells around me. Eventually I go out and mumble an apology. Everything will be all right for a day or two before it happens all over again.

I'm standing at the kitchen sink, staring at nothing. Darry walks in and grabs his lunch from the fridge.

"What are you doing today, Ponyboy?"

He asks me this every morning. Sometimes, he broaches the subject of me either returning to work, or going to College. I laugh at that, a bitter, hallow laugh. Which doesn't impress Darry. I'd rather work, I had told him. When I'm ready to. I have a sizeable chunk of money in my savings account from the year I'd spent in Vietnam. Something to come out of it at least, but at what cost?

I half turn and look at him.

"I might go see Two-Bit."

I visit him several times a week. It's only then that I get a sense of belonging. But afterwards, seeing Two-Bit struggle to get around with one leg, leaves me feeling frustrated and angry. Two-Bit went willingly to watch my back, and now he's gonna have to live the rest of his life handicapped. It should have been me. I shouldn't have come back in one piece.

Darry frowns. "Maybe you better do that tomorrow."

He knows I'm in a mood after seeing Two-Bit.

"Why?" I ask.

"Sue is coming over for dinner tonight."

Darry is still going out with her. I don't know how serious it is. She looks at me as if I'm a stranger now. I feel even more uncomfortable around her. She's all into the anti-war demonstrations, which she never mentions around me. Probably because Darry's tells her not too. I think seeing me validates her beliefs.

" _They need to end that war. They have to stop sending young men like Ponyboy. You see what it's done to him."_ I heard her whisper to Darry the first time she saw me, when she thought I was out of earshot. _"He's so changed."_

 _I never stopped to hear what Darry's response was, heading straight for my room and locking myself in it. Cranking up The Doors on my cassette player._

"I can stay out," I tell him, preferring not to be home if she was gonna be here.

His hand rests on my shoulder, I see the concerned look on his face. The last time I stayed out late I got into a fight. That was three nights ago. After seeing Two-Bit I had stopped by a tavern on the way home. I had a few beers. Soda was with me, just as well. It really wasn't our scene. All the wrong kind of crowd. Well off College kids, nothing better to do with their time, but drink and talk about the futility of war as if they'd ever been there.

Soda was itching to go home. I should have listened to him, because the next thing I know the guy next to me asks if I'd been in Vietnam. ' _You have that look about you'_ , he'd said. I told him I had been and what's it to him.

' _I managed to dodge the draft',_ he'd half laughed, half sneered, ' _just as well too, or I'd end up looking like you, all washed up and burnt out. I bet you're an addict too. You using, man, because you look as if you are.'_

I'd thought of Two-Bit, having his leg blown off. I thought about how half our platoon were killed in the Rip-Cord Battle. I'm seeing red.

"You're a fucking coward," I'd hissed at him.

It was on for young and old after that. I don't know who laid the first punch, maybe it was me. All I know was that it felt good to let the rage out. To feel my fist hit flesh, feel the bones crunch beneath my knuckles. At some point I was aware of Soda pleading with me, but I couldn't hear him, maybe because I didn't want to. I didn't want to see reason. I just wanted to let the rage take hold and breath. For the first time since coming home, I had felt alive.

It wasn't till I heard the police sirens that some sense returned. Soda had frantically pulled me out by my jacket.

He was quiet on the drive home. By that time, my rage was gone. I hadn't come out too badly from the fight either. I only got hit once in the face, but I had a bruise from it. My knuckles hurt real badly, but I welcomed the pain. It felt good. I felt calm.

I look up to find Darry still watching me. "I'd like you to stay home, please."

It's the please that gets me. Darry seldom says please. I feel myself relenting. I nod.

* * *

Dinner is okay. Not as painful as I thought it would be. Probably because Steve is there as well. He doesn't treat me any differently. I almost find myself liking him now. He gives me shit like nothing has changed. Sometimes I even give it back, depending what mood I'm in.

It's his idea to go to the tavern. Sue is in agreement, which means Darry will go.

I'm reluctant. I don't like going anywhere local.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud, kid," Steve pipes up. "We'll play some pool so I can whip your ass again. Might get that sour expression of ya face."

He's in fine form.

"C'mon, Pony," Soda says. "It'll be fun."

I relent and end up going with them.

It's all right at first, I play pool with Soda and Steve, wishing Two-Bit was here. It's not the same without him.

A couple of beers later, we're all sitting at a table when two of Sue's college friends stop by. That's when it starts turning sour. That's when the conversation turns to the anti-war sentiments. It seems I can never escape it. The two girls, whose names I can't remember despite Sue introducing me to them, keep stealing curious glances my way as if I'm some sort of anomaly. Sue attempts to change the conversation after Darry gives her a warning look. I see the annoyance flicker on her face. My over protective brothers. There are some things they just can't shelter me from. I'm gonna be hearing this for a long time. I don't want Darry giving Sue a hard time about it. It's not her fault.

"It's all right, Darry. Just because I've been to Nam, you don't need to stop talking about the anti-war movement. It's not as if I asked to go there."

The two girls look at me.

"The draft is so unfair," the brown haired girl says. "It needs to be stopped."

"I agree."

"At least you didn't join up of your own free will," she continues, tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She wears too much make-up. "I don't know how anyone would want to enlist."

I think of Two-Bit. I know he did because of me. I think of half the guys I knew over there who had enlisted, either to be with their buddies, or because their father's fought in WWII. I think of Cherry and Emma, wanting to make a difference, wanting to ease our suffering.

"They have their reasons," I mutter, taking a swig of beer, my annoyance growing. "It takes guts if you ask me."

"Guts to go and kill," she scoffs.

My eyes narrow. She so obviously has very set ideas.

"But that's war," I steadily state. "Maybe it ain't right, but it is what it is."

I see the defiance in her blue eyes. I can see she has more to say. She obviously thinks we're the scum of the earth.

"Um, lets change this subject," Sue hastily speaks up.

But I don't care for conversation anymore. I'm no good at socializing. Grabbing my packet of cigarettes, I leave the table. It was a mistake to come here.

I make for the door. That's when I see her, Sally from the bank. Her eyes widen in shock at the sight of me. Then she quickly averts her gaze and walks pass, as if she'd never seen me.

I stand there for a moment, rooted to the spot.

I really am a freak now. All of us who'd been to Vietnam are. We're strangers in our own country.

Irritated, I take a deep breath and step out into the cool night air. I feel on edge and quickly walk home. It starts to rain, but it doesn't dampen my growing anger. I wish it would.

What the fuck is wrong with people? I find myself longing to be back in Japan, around people who were in the same boat as me, nurses who cared about us, who saw what we went through.

I miss Emma.

* * *

By the time I get home, I'm half soaked. I head for the shower, shoving my damp clothes in the laundry on the way through.

The water is hot, but it doesn't soothe my agitation. The only thing that'll stop that is the bottle of bourbon hidden in my bedroom, music and smoking.

Stepping out of the shower, I dry myself off.

"Hey, Pony," I hear Soda call.

He's obviously worrying himself sick about me, again. I wish he'd just leave me alone.

I'm still drying myself when the door opens. I quickly look up. Soda stands there in the doorway, his face going pale at the sight of my scars. Neither one of my brothers have seen them. I'm always wearing long sleeved tops and jeans.

"Fuck, Pony …" he gasps. I see the sudden distress cross his face, his eyes fill with tears.

I can imagine how it must look to him. My agitation increases tenfold.

"Two-Bit said it ain't pretty," his voice shakes badly as he stutters on the first letters, choking the words out with an effort. "But I … had no idea … how bad it is."

My anger flares, quick and potent.

"Don't you fucking knock?!" I yell, slamming the door shut in his face.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down, trying to fight back the anger and failing miserably. _Get a grip, Pony,_ I tell myself. Of course he's gonna be upset. _You're always upsetting him._

I gotta get out of here. Opening the door, I storm down the hallway to my bedroom. I hastily get dressed into some dry clothes, pulling my sneakers on.

I don't know where I'm gonna go, but I gotta go.

I grab my pack of cigarettes from the kitchen table, shoving them in my pocket. I head into the lounge room. Soda is there, leaning against the wall, looking all miserable.

"Where are you going, Pony?" he asks in a sad voice.

"Out," I curtly return, heading for the front door.

He quickly stands in my way. "I don't think you should."

I glare at him. "Just get out of my way, Soda."

"No." He stands there in defiance. "Not until you calm down."

I go to step around him, but he blocks my way. I can feel the rage building even more. At this rate I'm gonna end up hitting him, and I don't want to hurt my own brother. But I already see he's hurting inside. That I'm doing this to him. Always hurting him.

"Just let me pass, Soda," I warn.

He throws me a desperate look. "Listen to me, Pony. Please," he begs. "I'm sorry for walking in on you. I know you're angry, but if you go out like this," he rakes a hand through his hair, "there ain't no telling what you might do. Like the other night."

"He had it coming," I growl, clenching and unclenching my hands.

"Maybe he did, but you nearly busted up your hand again."

"I'll remember to use my left hand next time."

I push past him, but Soda tries to stop me. Something sparks hot in my chest. Next thing I know, I grab him by his shirt and shove him up against the wall.

"Just stay out of my way!" I yell, infuriated. I'm gripping him tightly by both of his arms. "I don't care about the scars to my body," I continue to yell. "I got lucky. You wanna know what happened to the other guys? Because I'll tell you, two of them died, one lost both of his legs, the other had severe gut wounds, and the guy right next to me … he lost an arm and then there's me. I don't lose anything, but I should have! But I don't, because - I'm - so - fucking - lucky!"

I can't think for the blood rushing to my head. Still gripping him tightly by his arms, I yank him from the wall and shove him with all of my pent up rage across the room. He goes crashing to the ground, knocking the coffee table which flips up in the air taking the lamp with it. The lamp shatters as it hits the wall, fragments of broken glass rain down all over Soda.

Double horror hits me. What have I done? What the fuck have I done? It feels like somebody had knocked the air out of me. My legs go weak. I slump against the wall. Soda's face is scrunched up in pain and anguish.

"I … I'm …" But the words get stuck in my throat.

The front door opens, and Darry steps in. His eyes take in the scene before him, from me, to Soda lying on the ground with silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

My stomach roils.

"Soda!" Darry exclaims, rushing over to him. "You all right?" He helps him sit up, then turns his confused and shocked expression my way.

"What the hell happened, Ponyboy?" he snaps. "What did you do?!"

I see the recrimination in his eyes. "I … I'm … sorry," I manage to choke out. Self-disgust leaches through me.

"I'm all right, Darry," Soda begins.

But he's not. I see it in his eyes. I see the raw pain, knowing I put it there.

I tear my gaze away from his face. My whole body is racked with guilt. I can't look at him. I can't look at either of them. I'm filled with remorse, and anger and so much hate. Spots swim before my eyes.

I have to get out of there.

Turning away, I grip the doorway, forcing my legs to move. I somehow stumble onto the porch.

"Ponyboy," Darry calls after me, voice filled with urgency.

 _Run … Run away._ I can't face them – I can never face them again. I nearly fall down the front steps in my haste to escape, and then I'm running. As fast as I can. The cool night hair whips through my hair. Drops of rain splatter on my face. Innocence, that's what I've now lost. I'm a stranger, even to myself.

I don't know this person. I don't know what I've become.

I run till exhaustion takes hold. I'm drenched in sweat. It trickles down the back on my neck and the sides of my forehead. My whole body is trembling, uncontrollably.

I collapse in a heap on the damp grass, finding myself at the foot of Johnny's grave, trying hard to breath. The rain pelts down. I'm drenched within minutes. Lightning streaks across the sky followed by a distant rumble of thunder.

Suddenly, I'm back there.

 _All I can hear is pained screams, it's the most awful sound, something I've heard too much off now. My heart is pounding in my chest. I'm never gonna see the sun again._ _The sun is never going to come up. I can't remember the last time I watched a sunrise or sunset._

 _I'm not gonna die. I'm not dying here._

Someone is shaking me, yelling my name. It's the raw pain and sense of urgency in that voice that forces my heavy eyelids open.

" _Ponyboy," Two-Bit gasps, his face caked with mud and tears. "Get the fuck up and let's get off this godforsaken mountain – now!"_

 _I'm feeling unco-ordinated and Two-Bit is half dragging me along._

"C'mon, Ponyboy. Help me out here, you gotta snap out of it."

The voice sounds incredibly worried.

 _But all I can hear is pained screams ringing in my ears, the whirring sound from the rotor blades of the huey._

 _My eyes fasten to what is left of Thommo's legs. Two-Bit's swearing under his breath. "Sweet Jesus. Fuck. Fucking hell."_

 _Next thing I know, more bile is rising up in my throat. I lean over the edge of the chopper and throw up. I see the ground below. I see the gooks swarm the hill we'd just left moments before._

 _Tears are streaming down my eyes. For the first time since arriving in this hell hole I feel hate. It burns like battery acid in the pit of my stomach._

" _Ponyboy," I hear Two-Bit call, his voice sounding distorted in my ears._

"C'mon, kiddo, wake up …"

" _Take your helmet off," Two-Bit instructs._

"What if my brains fall out?" I sob.

Someone pulls me into their arms. _"No brains spilling out, Pony."_

"W-What about my face?" I gulp. _I remember the bullet slicing into my cheek._ "I-I still have a f-face?"

"You still have a face, Ponyboy."

Something is wrong. Two-Bit never calls me kiddo, and seldom Ponyboy. But my brain isn't right. I'm all confused. I don't know where I am.

I feel Two-Bit draw me back into his arms. He's holding me.

I'm just lying there dazed, winded and staring up at the sky. I'm thinking it's not raining anymore. _Because that's all it did for months. And it's Christmas day tomorrow. I'd forgotten._

But the sky is different. I don't feel any pain. I just feel cold. My teeth are clattering.

"W-Why am I so cold?"

"Because you're drenched through, Ponyboy, and it's been hours."

That voice. I know that voice … I'm not in Vietnam. It's not Two-Bit holding me. Vague, hazy memories begin to slowly surface.

"Darry," I croak.

Relief washes over his taunt, drawn face. "Yeah – it's me."

I slowly sit up, taking in my surroundings, shivering. I'm in a graveyard. My eyes widen at the sight of Johnny's grave. Why am I here?

"H-How did you find me?"

"Soda had a hunch."

He always does – Soda - Fuck.

"I hurt him." A sob catches in my throat.

I hurt Soda. I remember now. I feel wretched all over again. "I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He's all right," Darry reassures, pulling his coat off. "It's you we've been worried sick about."

He wraps his coat around me, his hands resting on my shoulders as he studies my face.

"I find you curled up, muttering incoherently and I couldn't get you to snap out of it."

The coat offers some warmth, but I still can't stop trembling. I don't know what it was that had happened to me. I glance up at the dark sky. It's never happened before.

"There was a storm," I began, my voice shakes. "I saw the lightning and then there was thunder … and I was …"

It's a different type of coldness that creeps over me.

"Back in Vietnam?" Darry finishes for me.

I nod and swallow. God only knows what I must have been muttering. I feel ashamed and scared.

"What's happening to me?"

There's a strained, haunted look on his face. "I'm not sure, Ponyboy, but let's get you out of here and back home."

He helps me to my feet. I feel stiff, sore and still bitterly cold. I can barely manage to walk. I'm glad Darry brought the truck. He bundles me into it and cranks up the heater.

A sudden exhaustion takes hold of me.

"I-I'm sorry, Darry," I murmur in a weary voice. "I'm sorry I'm not the same anymore."

He glances sideways at me. "It's not your fault. The war did this to you." There's a grim expression on his face. I know he's trying to hold his anger in check. I know his anger isn't directed at me.

"The therapy in Japan didn't help?"

"We never talked about the war. He only talked about Johnny, and my guilt for his death. My loss of appetite after it."

Which has surprisingly improved. I've been eating like a regular normal person since being home. I've even gained some weight. Maybe it's from drinking beer as well.

 _Get that into you, Pony._ Two-Bit often says to me. _That'll put some weight back on your skinny assed frame._

"Maybe you need to go see a doctor," Darry suggests.

I shudder at the thought. I've had enough of doctors and hospitals. They'll probably put me in a nut house.

"You blame yourself for what happened to Two-Bit?" he asks, which sounds more like a statement than a question.

I do. I don't need to say it out loud. Darry's knows.

"You can't keep blaming yourself for what happens to other people," he murmurs.

I can't help it. People keep getting hurt and dying around me.

* * *

Once back home, I dread seeing Soda. What do I say? Words just don't cut it anymore. I can barely stand when I climb out of the truck. It's like my whole body has shut down. Darry puts an arm around me, and all but half carries me up the front steps.

The house is warm, and for the first time its familiar. I feel like I'm really home. Soda is standing anxiously in the lounge room. He takes one look at me, and his expression breaks. He wraps his arms around me. I feel relieved and ashamed at the same time.

"I'm sorry," I mumble in the collar of his shirt.

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes skimming over my face. "It's okay, Pony. Next time I won't try to stop you. I'll just let you go beat the shit out of someone else."

He says it lightly, a forced grin on his face. He tousles my hair. "You look like a drowned rat. You need to get out of those wet clothes."

I'm too exhausted to do anything. I collapse on the sofa, my body demanding sleep. I can't even summon up the energy to have a cigarette despite hanging out for one.

"What's wrong with him?" I hear Soda ask Darry.

"I found him re-living some experience he had in Vietnam. I think the thunder storm triggered it."

That makes sense, I drowsily think. The thunder sounds like mortar falling.

"I'll go get him some dry clothes. See if you can get him out of those wet clothes," Darry suggests.

"I don't know, Darry," Soda begins. "He's a bit touchy about the scars."

My eyes begin to drift shut.

"Well he can't stay like that."

Soda is by my side. "C'mon, Pony. You can't sleep in wet clothes."

"Too tired, don't care," I mumble.

"Help me out here, kiddo."

Now Soda's calling me kiddo, or is it Darry? I manage to sit up, but it's an effort to pull my soaked sweater off.

"You want me to help you?" Soda asks, voice filled with uncertainty.

"Yeah, it's okay, you've seen the scars already."

I no longer care if the whole world sees them.

He yanks my sweater off, hissing under his breath when his gaze takes in the scarring. His eyes start getting all watery. It causes a lump to form in my throat.

"Just don't cry on me," I mutter.

He runs a hand up the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, I can't help it. You're my baby brother."

His words are oddly soothing.

"And you know me," he continues, kneeling down to remove my sneakers. "Don't take much to make me cry."

"I know," I sigh. "I hope that never changes."

He slowly raises his head, the warmth in his eyes makes me feel close to him again.

"Did I hurt you?"

He shakes his head. "Not really, coffee table did more damage," he lightly quips. "I got a few pieces of glass in my arm, Darry removed with them with tweezers, but they're just nicks."

I feel lousy all over again. Soda must notice the expression on my face, because he hastily says, "Don't beat yourself up about it, Pony."

But I do.

He tosses my sneakers across the room and pulls off my socks.

"Right now, I'm glad you got so fucking lucky," he says in a gruff voice, hastily wiping his tears away. "Real glad."

"I know," I sigh, sleepily. "Even if I'm no longer the same."

"Right now you are."

For a short while. Before the anger takes hold again. Before I have to find some way to release it. Then I'm calm again, but it never lasts long.

I close my eyes, fighting a sudden wave of dizziness. I gotta sleep. I don't care about anything else. I lie back down on the sofa, and I'm gone.

* * *

Pony's out like a light. My shoulders sag. I lean back against the sofa, burying my face in my hands. He's all torn up inside, and it's worse than the physical scarring to his body. Seeing him in the bathroom, seeing how badly scarred he was had shocked me, but not as much as the pure rage on his face. He didn't look at all like my brother. I can't handle it when he yells at me. I'm still not used to it. Tonight was by far the worst ever. I should never have tried to stop him. But I was so scared. When he got in that fight at the tavern, I could see he enjoyed it. I couldn't get him to stop. Pony, who never really liked fighting before, just did it because we were a gang.

I find the changes hard to take. It's only when the storm is over, that I have my old brother back, the one I used to know.

Like just now. But I sadly wonder how long it'll last, knowing it won't. I wonder how long it'll take for him to be whole again, if he'll ever be again.

Silent tears slide down my cheeks. My upper arms are already bruising from him gripping me so tight earlier. His tormented face flashes before me. _You wanna know what happened to the other guys?_ No I don't. I can already see what it's done to him. I couldn't even look him in the eyes. I couldn't handle seeing the burning rage and deep searing pain.

 _I don't lose anything, but I should have_. I want him to stop. I don't want to hear anymore. He yanks me so roughly that I'm surprised by his strength. I didn't even have any time to stop myself from falling. The coffee table landed on my chest, leaving me winded. All I can think is that surely my own brother wouldn't kill me. I'm dazed and it feels like my heart is shattering into a million pieces. I am the bits of fragmented glass lying around me. I hurt so bad.

When I look up, I see the horror on his face. I want to reach out to him. But he's gone before Darry and I can do anything. I'm shit scared he's gonna do something drastic. _'Find him, Darry,' I beg. 'Please go find him and bring him home._

"I thought you're supposed to be getting him out of the wet clothes," Darry says as he walks into the room.

His voice comes to an abrupt halt. I look up and see his eyes are fixated on Ponyboy. I see the shock on his face.

"Bad, isn't it," I say.

Darry is working his jaw, his face like thunder. It's just as well Ponyboy's fast asleep and blissfully unaware of the palpable rage I see cross Darry's face. His eyes bright with unshed tears. I can see him fighting it, like he always does, fighting to hold it together. I admire his strength, but he looks more ragged than I've ever seen him. I know he's close to breaking point.

He sits down on the edge of the sofa, alongside Pony, running a hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. I can see him struggle, a lump forms in my throat. "Ain't your fault, Darry."

It seems I have to reassure both of my stubborn brothers about that. Darry say's Pony has guilt issues and is always blaming himself, and I'm thinking he's not the only one. They are more alike than they both realize. I drag myself off the ground.

"I think it's best we just wrap him up in a couple of blankets, leave the dry clothes next to him so when he wakes up, he can change into them."

Darry remains sitting there, still as a statue. He's even more shook up than I'd realized.

"Darry?"

He blinks back tears. Pulls himself up with a start, returning his attention back to Pony. Pony, fast asleep and looking at peace for a change. Darry's large hand, rests lightly on Pony's scarred arm, a host of conflicting emotions flickering across his face.

"How did he survive it?" he mutters.

"Because we've already lost too much," I reply in a hoarse voice. "Couldn't lose him too."

That would up been the end of me. Of us.

Darry touches the raised, red and angry looking scars to Pony's chest and abdomen. Pony's anguished face flashes before me. _Two of them died, one lost both of his legs, the other had severe gut wounds, and the guy right next to me … he lost an arm_.

It would have been hell for him. To live with that. It's no wonder he's so tormented, so full of anger. My poor, broken little brother. I just wanted to protect him. I didn't want him to hurt and to suffer. My father's voice resonates in my head. _'Look after your brother, Soda.'_ The last words he'll ever say to me. My throat aches in my attempts to stop my tears. I can't keep putting myself through this torture.

"We should get him out of those jeans," I numbly speak.

Darry withdraws his hand.

"Okay," he murmurs in a resigned sad voice.

We both pull his damp jeans down only to find more scars, a nasty ragged and long one to his thigh. Darry swears under his breath. He's taking this harder than I thought.

"What happened when you found him, Darry?"

Darry flounders in a sea of emotion. "He … just wasn't there. He was saying this stuff, stuff he must have experienced in Vietnam, something about his brains falling out, asking if he still had a face. I held him for half an hour before he came around."

I'm feeling sick in the stomach. Darry's hands are trembling.

"What the fuck has that war done to him," I mutter. "How do you come back from that, Darry?"

He takes a deep fortifying breath. "Just got to hope he does."

* * *

I drag my mattress into the lounge room and place it next to the sofa. No way am I leaving Pony alone. Darry takes up residence on the single seat sofa, his feet propped up on an old tattered ottoman. I don't see how he's gonna sleep like that. I don't think I can sleep either. I prepare myself for another sleepless night. I'm beginning to get use to them now. We both are.

I vaguely wonder what sort of mood Pony will be in tomorrow. I roll over onto my side, praying I'll get him back one day. Just like he used to be. Whole again. Happy. That he'll laugh once more.

That ... he get's to be himself once again.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** And so ends another sorrow filled chapter of this story! It was hard to write this chapter. I hate writing Ponyboy in this state, but this was such a reality for a lot of those young men when they came back from Vietnam. As always I have to do the time period and the story justice! And it's hard to write in another time period. Pony is obviously suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder but that title didn't exist then. PTSD wasn't labelled until 1980. It was referred to as Vietnam Syndrome.

I'd love to know what you all think! Please leave a review and make my day a happy one :)

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	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** I had some great reviews on the last chapter and thank you so much for taking the time! I very much appreciate it! This chapter isn't as angst driven, because writing angst not stop is difficult to do and sometimes we need a little breather from it, but some important things happen and there's a lot of reflection. Most of it is from Pony's POV, but the last couple of scenes are from Two-Bit's.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 24.**_

* * *

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I lie on the sofa pretending to sleep. I can hear Soda and Darry in the kitchen, having breakfast before they go to work. I feel emotionally drained. The events of the previous night flash through my head causing me to groan internally. I hurt my own brother. I hurt Soda and it all might have turned out okay, but what if I'd seriously hurt him. What if I'd killed him? That's something I could never live with. As it is, I'll never forgive myself.

My eyes open. I see Soda's mattress on the floor. I'm lucky my brothers are so understanding. But for how long? How long can I keep putting them through hell?

I need to do something constructive, but what? I have no motivation. Untangling myself from the blankets my brothers have covered me in, I can barely sit up. I feel so weak.

The back door crashes open and Steve walks in. "Why you all look as if you've been to a funeral," he remarks.

I screw my eyes shut. Because they have - mine. The brother that they used to know no longer exists; he's been replaced by a stranger. What's happened to me?

"You wanna keep your voice down," Darry tells him. "Pony's asleep on the sofa."

Was asleep. The last thing I want is for Steve to walk in and see me half naked, bad enough my brothers had too. I can only imagine Darry's response to seeing my scars. Seeing Soda's initially in the bathroom last night was bad enough. I reach for the clean clothes on the armrest of the sofa. They've seen it all now, heard it all too. Darry was there to witness me re-living some of my experience in Vietnam, and I'd all but screamed in Soda's face about what happened to the other guys caught up in the mine blast.

"Why's he sleeping on the sofa?"

Darry mumbles something I can't hear, but I think it's something along the lines of 'it's a long story.' I pull on a long sleeved top.

"You wanna hurry it up there, Soda," Steve speaks again. "We're gonna be late for work."

I stand up, the room begins to spin. I wait for it to stop.

"I emptied your letter box for ya," Steve continues. "There's a letter for the kid."

Reaching for my jeans, I yank them on.

I hear Steve give a low whistle. "It's from Cherry Valance." My hand freezes in the middle of doing up the top button of my jeans.

"Why would she be writing to him?"

I stumble into the kitchen, intent of getting that letter from Steve. Trust him to read the back of it. He looks up as I enter the kitchen, frowning.

"You look like death warmed up, kid," he remarks.

I eye the letter in his hand. "You and Cherry, huh," he teases.

"I ran into her in Vietnam, at China Beach on R&R," I hastily return, "now can I have the letter?"

Darry snatches the letter out of Steve's hand and gives it to me.

"Thanks," I mumble, looking down at the letter. Why would she be writing to me? I stuff it in my pocket and look up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me.

"Didn't she join the nurse's corp?" Soda asks.

I suddenly remember what I had told them my first night home, about losing my virginity. I can see Soda's putting two and two together.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"So she was a nurse there?" Steve inquires.

This was just getting better, I mutely think. "Yeah."

A grin splits Steve's face. "You get it on with her?"

"We're just friends," I mumble. "Hadn't you two better be getting to work instead of talking about my love life, or lack of it?"

But I'm glad Steve's here, it offers a distraction.

"All right," Soda sighs, getting up from the table, looking so tired. I'm feeling lousy all over again.

"How did you get the bruises?" Steve remarks.

My eyes dart to his arms, Soda hastily pulls the sleeves of his top down. He reaches for his lunch box, but I intercept him.

He doesn't say anything as I pull his sleeve up and look at the dark blue, black bruises to his upper arm. Guilt and shame hits me square in the guts. I hate myself more than ever.

"I did this," I mutter, feeling sick in the stomach. "I did this to you, Soda."

I knew he had to be lying last night, trying not to hurt my feelings. Screw my feelings, what about his?

"It's just a couple of bruises, Pony. I'm fine …"

"Ponyboy did that to you!" Steve exclaims, looking angry. "What the hell kid? What's the matter with you?!"

"Just leave it alone, Steve," Darry intervenes.

Steve glares at him, I can tell he's pissed, and I don't blame him. I almost welcome it. I deserve to be told off.

"He has a right," I tell Darry. "He's his best friend, so yell at me all you want, Steve."

I hope he does. I hope he gives it to me good. But he just gives me a departing glare before storming out of the kitchen via the back door.

"Terrific," Soda sighs wearily. "I ain't gonna hear the end of it now."

"I'm sorry, Soda," I murmur, for what it's worth.

He pats my shoulder. "Its okay, Pony." His concerned eyes meet mine. "Just forget it, all right. You're already beating yourself up about too many things. It ain't gonna help you."

I lower my eyes and nod. If only it was that easy.

"I'll see you later."

He turns and leaves. Darry and I stand there in silence. Feeling miserable, I slowly turn to face him.

"What do I do?"

"Let it go, Pony," he replies, his voice sounding heavy and strained.

But I can't. I don't know how. Darry's hands rest on my shoulders. I see the shadows in his eyes, the lines bracketing the corners of his mouth. He knows it all now. He's gonna be burdened with it.

"You've survived a lot, kiddo."

With a sinking heart, I dully realize he's referring to the scars.

"It's gonna take a while for you to get over it."

He squeezes my shoulder.

"What if I don't?" I state haltingly. "What if I'm like this forever?"

Pain flickers across his face. "It just seems like that for now."

He moves away, opens the fridge and retrieves his lunch box.

"Will you be all right on your own?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'm too tired to do anything. I'm just gonna go back to bed and sleep."

Read the letter Cherry sent me. I'm curious as to why she's written me a letter. She must be back home in the States now as well.

"Make sure you eat some breakfast," Darry says on his way out the door.

The house is suddenly shrouded in silence. I stand there for a moment, thinking about Soda. Thinking about the bruises on his arms that I had put there. I'm a lousy human being.

Breakfast is the last thing on my mind. I don't feel hungry, maybe later. I amble to my bedroom.

What I need is a distraction. I pull Cherry's letter out of my pocket.

I sit down on my bed, fumble for my reading glasses and tear open the letter. A slight nervous anticipation takes hold as I begin to read.

 _Dear Ponyboy,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well and back home with your brothers. I'm writing to you for peace of mind. I have to know that you are okay. That you weren't hurt too badly over in Vietnam. I worried about you. It's been ages since I last saw you._

Home in one piece, but as for the okay part – no. And it must be a good six months since I last saw her. I remember it clearly. The way her fingers gently touched the scar on my cheek as she rubbed cream on it. _'It's got vitamin E in it. It will help with the scarring, you should use it every day.'_ I never did. Her hand then caressed my cheek, a small smile on her face. _'It doesn't mar that handsome face of yours.'_ The smile suddenly vanishes. _'I have seen young guys with their faces blown off, suffering severe burns. Too afraid to go home. Too afraid of how people will react.'_ Her eyes are so sad. _'I've seen too much. I'd give anything to go home – do anything.'_

I hastily push the memory away, it hurt to go there and continue reading the letter.

 _Due to reasons, I won't explain here, I've been back home for four months. I only served nine months instead of a year. I had a bit of a mental break down. It's rough when you first come home. I still don't feel part of things like I used too. My parents tell me that I never should have gone and maybe they are right. I can't erase all of the horrible things I saw. I wish I had never gone. The only positive to come out of my experience there is you. I remember telling you that I'd been hurt, but I never went into how badly. And I won't here as it's an experience I don't like to think about. As you know I hated all men. Then you came along. Our few times making love, was like a healing balm. As if a part of me had been put right again._

 _I thought you should know that, how special you are. Don't lose sight of it, Ponyboy._

 _You will always have a place in my heart. Please write back and tell me how you are. I hope that one day we'll be what we once used to be._

 _Love_

 _Cherry_

I sit there stupefied for a minute. She's been home four months. Why? She had a mental breakdown. That part doesn't surprise me. Is that why they sent her back home? There are so many things left unsaid. But her words about me being special – she's wrong. Or, if I had been, I'm not any longer. It's too late … I've already lost sight of myself. Her letter leaves me with mixed feelings. I haven't really thought about her in months. There's nothing to indicate in the letter that she wishes to see me, other than she wants to hear I'm okay.

Well, I can give her that.

Sitting at my desk, I find some paper and pen. I start writing. Do I write 'Dear Cherry', or just 'Cherry'? Cherry sounds too formal, and we were intimate in the strange sort of relationship we had, if I can even call it that.

 _Dear Cherry,_

 _I've been back home for a month. You are right about it been rough. Half the time I don't know what it is I'm feeling, only I don't belong. My brothers try their best, but I'm too changed. I've struggled. Like you, I've seen too much, but unlike you, I've also done too much. No one really gets it, except Two-Bit. He lost a leg. Had it blown off by a jumper mine about three months before we were due home. He's doing okay, but he's still at the Oakland Army base hospital having rehabilitation. As for me, I'm still in once piece._

 _I spent the last couple of months in Japan. I was injured in a mine blast a few days after Two-Bit. I copped some shrapnel, busted my hand, but I'm all right now. At least I didn't have to go back to Vietnam, mostly due to my weight loss and mental state._

 _Do you really believe we'll ever be the same? Because I don't. Whatever person you think you once knew, I'm no longer him. I'm not special. But what we shared in China Beach, I won't ever forget it. I guess we offered each other the comfort we both needed at that time._

 _All the best for your future._

 _Take care._

 _Ponyboy_

I stare at the letter for a long silent moment, my hand shakes slightly. It's best she knows what sort of place I'm in. It's best the letter keeps the finality it has. Best I put that chapter of my life behind me. That decided, I fold it up and place it in an envelope. There's no way I'm gonna be able to sleep now. I put my sneakers on and head out the door to post the letter.

* * *

I don't like going into town if I can help it. But I have this sudden restlessness, and I don't know what to do with it. I post the letter. My stomach grumbles reminding me I haven't eaten. I step into the dairy queen and buy a hamburger. So far, so good, I haven't run into anyone I know.

I go to the local supermarket, buy smokes, beer and several bottles of bourbon to stash away in my closet. Might as well stock up now.

I'm nearly at my car when I hear a familiar voice.

"Ponyboy Curtis."

I turn around to see Mr Phillips, the bank manager, approaching me. "It's good to see you back home."

He shakes my hand warmly, taking in the sight of me. A sight frown dents his forehead.

"You're looking a bit too thin there, son. But I guess that's understandable."

I manage to nod. "Foods a bit rough over there."

"You know that offer is still open. If you ever want your old job back it's all yours."

I think of Sally, ignoring my existence. I don't want to have to sit in a desk near her. Then there is everyone else, the stares I'd no doubt get, the questions, or maybe more people ignoring me because I'd spent a year in a war everyone wants to forget, or hates.

"Thank you, Sir," I reply. "But I just got home, and I'm not ready to return to work yet."

I don't want to be around people. I don't think I could even concentrate long enough to fill in all those ledgers.

"The offer is always open to you, Ponyboy. I admire young men like yourself. Not shirking your duties like those draft dodgers."

At least there are some people who still do. I find it's generally the older people who are more supportive of the war, not that I am. It's a fucking waste of life, but I don't say anything. I just nod again.

"Thanks."

"Take care of yourself, son."

He gives me a goodbye salute.

"Bye Mr Phillips."

He goes on his merry way. I put the bags in the car and wonder what I'm gonna do with the rest of my day. Maybe it's about time I get a job. A job that doesn't require me to work around, or deal with people. I have no idea where I can find a job like that.

* * *

The day drags by. I'm bored. I should have gone and seen Two-Bit, but I'm still feeling lousy about what I did to Soda. I drink four beers in the afternoon to pass the time. Nearly smoke a whole packet of cigarettes. I'm beginning to regret sending the letter to Cherry. I should have just lied. Not like it matters. By the sound of it, she's having an equally rough time of it. But I don't want to think about it; her.

I flick through the television stations, but I can find nothing that interests me.

I'm dozing in the armchair when I hear something or someone banging on the back porch. I drag myself of the chair and go out the back.

Steve is there. Rigging up what looks to be a punching bag.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He glares my way.

"What does it look like?"

"Why?"

"Next time ya get pissed, kid, and I know you're pissed at the whole world right now, you'll have something to take it out on other than your brother."

Trust Steve to make me feel lousier than I already do. He shoves a pair of gloves at me.

"Now put them on."

I gingerly take that from him, frowning. "Right now?"

"No, next fucking year, or course right now," he snaps.

"But I'm not pissed at the moment," I retort, placing a strong emphasis of the word _'pissed_.'

"Just do it."

I pull the gloves on and attempt to punch at the bag.

"You hit like a girl, Ponyboy," Steve remarks. "Give it some grunt."

I have another go at it. Steve just hisses and shakes his head. I glare at him.

"You ever hurt Soda again. You'll have me to answer to," he threatens.

"I didn't mean to hurt him," I snap back. "And you can do what you like to me if I ever do again."

"I will."

"Good, I'll welcome it. Nothing more than I deserve."

I punch the bag with more force. Steve pats me on the back. "Now that's more like it. Keep practicing."

* * *

Ten minutes later, I'm breathless and worn out. I wonder about Steve's methods at times, but there's something about taking my frustration out on the boxing bag. It sort of helps. Or, maybe I'm too knackered to feel anything more.

Soda walks up the back porch steps, a puzzled expression on his face when he sees me pulling the gloves off.

"What are doing, Pony?"

"Steve brought over a punching bag."

He doesn't look pleased. I watch him storm inside.

"What the hell, Steve," I hear him exclaim. "You teaching him how to punch now, how's that gonna help?"

Great, I mutely think to myself, now I'm causing a rift between Soda and Steve. I rush inside.

"So he can work off his frustration," Steve returns.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"It might help," I hastily say.

But Soda doesn't look convinced. I can see there are things he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. A loud knocking on the front door startles us. Soda goes to answer the door. Steve and I exchange a glance.

"Your brother needs to stop mothering you," he mutters.

I don't say anything, because I don't know how to answer that.

"Two-Bit!" I hear Soda exclaim.

I freeze on the spot. Am I hearing right?

"How did you get here?" Soda continues.

"I hopped all the way from Oklahoma," he quips. "How the fuck else do ya think I'd got here, the old girl dropped me off."

It's not a figment of my imagination. I manage to make my feet move and stumble into the lounge room. A grinning Two-Bit is standing there on our doorstep. I blink in disbelief.

"Hey, there kid. Better shut ya mouth before ya catch flies."

I catch him up in a tight hug, half dragging him through the front door.

"Easy on there, Ponyboy. I'm gonna lose my fake leg at this rate."

I let him go, feeling myself smile for the first time since the last time I saw him.

"You out now?" I ask.

"I'm finally a free man." His eyes take in the lounge room. "The Curtis residence," he sighs, looking nostalgic. "Been hanging out to see this place again." He turns to me and Soda. "Now where's the beer and the chocolate cake."

* * *

We sit out on the front porch, drinking beer, smoking and talking random guy stuff, just like old times. Darry joins us when he gets home from work. I can't believe Two-Bit's home. I drink in the sight of him, sitting on the old beat up couch, joking and telling us funny stories. It feels right. It's as it should be.

We sit out there for hours, till eventually Steve goes home. "While I still can stand," he says.

He stumbles to his car. "Good to have ya back Two-Bit." He waves.

"I should get home before my mom starts worrying too much," Two-Bit adds, getting to his feet.

He's still using the crutches. I wonder for how long? That's one thing that ain't right.

"I'll drive you home," I offer.

Darry jumps up. "I'll take him," he says, glancing down at me, his face half hidden in shadows. "You've had too much to drink, Ponyboy."

A sudden spark of annoyance alights and takes hold. "I fine," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand, getting to my feet.

But my head is spinning a bit.

I can feel Darry assessing me. "You've had at least six beers."

Not counting the four earlier on in the afternoon. I feel my annoyance increase.

"You keeping count now?" I return and regret the words soon as they leave my mouth.

Two-Bit steps in. "Ease up, Pony. Darry can take me home. Hardly had a chance to chat with him in a long while."

I blink. Of course. What am I doing? Getting annoyed over nothing as usual.

"Yeah, sure, didn't think of that."

I avert my eyes, now irritated at myself. Two-Bit rests a hand on my shoulder.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, "and the day after that, along with the following day and well the days are endless." He quirks an eyebrow. "Soon you'll be sick of me."

I manage a smile. "I doubt it."

His hand drops back to his crutches. "Man, it's a bitch not being able to drive," he sighs.

How long till he can drive? How long before he can do any of the things he once used to do? It leaves me feeling disgruntled.

"Buy, kid," he pauses. "Soda."

"See ya, Two-Bit," he waves.

Soda looks done in. The dark rings under his eyes are more pronounced in the half light of the porch.

Clutching the post, I watch Two-Bit negotiate the front steps with his crutches. My jaw clenches. It ain't right seeing him like that. Turning away, I angrily grab my can of beer and take a long swig, finishing it.

"It's gotta be rough for him," Soda quietly murmurs. "But he seems to be handling it okay."

"Even if he wasn't," I begin, lighting a cigarette. "He'd never let on."

Not even to me, I silently add.

Soda looks up at me, a thoughtful expression on his tired face.

"Was Cherry the nurse you slept with in Nam?" he asks, surprising me. That came out of nowhere.

I sit heavily on the couch next to him, drawing back on the cigarette. I can't lie to him.

"Yeah," I sigh.

He doesn't look at all surprised. "Figures. What did she write in the letter?"

"Just wanted to know if I was all right, something about wanting peace of mind."

I don't bother mentioning the rest of the content of that letter.

"You gonna see her again?"

"No. I think its best that stays in the past."

Where it belongs. I'm not fit to be any girl's boyfriend. I can't even imagine getting into a regular relationship, or Cherry getting in to one either. _I remember telling you that I'd been hurt, but I never went into how badly. And I won't here as it's an experience I don't like to think about._ I have a vague idea. Given her words she was either sexually assaulted or raped. I hate the thought of it. It makes me feel sick.

"I thinks she hates all men." I don't blame her.

Soda gives me a slight bemused look. "Doesn't sound like she hated you."

 _Our few times making love, was like a healing balm. As if a part of me had been put right again._

"We – sort of comforted each other a bit over there," I sigh, stubbing out my cigarette in the ash tray.

 _I thought you should know that, how special you are._ Whatever I was … it don't matter now.

"You should go to bed, Soda," I say, not unkindly.

I get up, dragging him up by his hand. He sways slightly. I catch him by his shoulders, afraid of touching his upper arms, hurting him.

I help him to his bedroom. He kicks off his shoes and falls asleep soon as his head hits the pillow. I watch him for a long silent moment. If I could only change what I did last night. But I can't. Feeling agitated, I tear my eyes away from Soda and head for my room.

I close and lock the door. I'm not nearly drunk enough to get to sleep without having nightmares. I find a bottle of bourbon in my cupboard, unscrew the lid and take a swig. It feels good. The way it burns as it goes down. I take another swig, wanting to forget – most everything. Hurting Soda. Cherry's sad letter. Two-Bit struggling to do every day simple tasks. Darry looking old before his time, and my own self-loathing.

* * *

Darry's quiet in the car on the drive to my house. But I can sense there is a lot he wants to say. He pulls up in the drive-way and turns the engine off. That's a sure sign.

"You wanna talk about Ponyboy?" I state.

He is a worry. It's a relief to be home, now I can keep an eye on him.

"How's he doing?"

Darry takes a deep breath. "I don't even know where to start with that."

It must be bad given the strained look on Darry's face. I was hoping the kid wouldn't cop it too bad when he returned, but I should have known he would.

"It doesn't take much to set him in a rage," Darry continues.

"Look, Darry. It's kinda normal. I saw a lot of it when having rehabilitation. Guys waking up screaming in the middle night, thinking the gooks are creeping about, losing the plot and all that shit."

"You seem to be holding up okay."

"There ain't a day when I can forget it though, what we all went through," I sigh. "But I'm not suffering survivor's guilt like Pony is. When I lost my leg …" Now that is something I'll never forget. "Pony was there when it happened." _His face flashes before me, filled with such anguish_. "He tried everything to stop it happening. I can still hear him screaming."

But he was powerless. We all were.

"Every day not knowing if it were your last day. It messes with ya head."

Darry makes a guttural sound in his throat. His jaw clenches.

"It's certainly messed with his," he mutters. "He was in a fight a couple of nights ago, and he flung Soda across the room last night."

I'm momentarily shocked. Pony hurt Soda! "Fuck," I hiss. It's worse than I thought.

"He took off afterwards," Darry continues in a strained voice. "I found him in the cemetery at Johnny's grave. Why would he go there?"

That I can't answer. Pony's strange affinity with the dead and graveyards. Still, I attempt to answer. "Maybe, because Johnny was the first person he ever saw die?"

That was rough enough for a 14 year old kid to have to go through and only eight months after losing his parents. No wonder Pony's messed up at times.

"He was re-living some experience he'd had in Vietnam," Darry continues.

That I can answer.

"It's a flashback. He has what the doc's are calling Vietnam Syndrome. Flashbacks and nightmares are part of it."

"What do I do?"

"Nothing you can do except stay out of his hair when he's mad. Pony will have to work it out for himself."

If he can. I grit my teeth. I hate what the war has down to him; to the both of us. I need a fucking drink. The porch light switches on. My mom opens the front door.

"I better go inside. She worries," I murmur. I've already stayed out too late. "Thanks for the ride home."

I gonna have to rely on everyone to run me around now.

 _'When will I be able to drive a car again?'_ I'd ask the doc. _'When you get better control over your leg. You'll need to buy a car that has automatic transition."_

They're expensive. I don't have the money for that. How the hell am I gonna get a job. It's almost laughable. Once I couldn't' hold a job down, and now I can't fucking get one because I've lost a leg.

' _Plenty of jobs you can do.' The doc had told me._

' _Like what? I have no qualifications.'_

' _Ever thought of going back to study at College.'_

I almost laughed out loud at that. ' _You wanna know how many years it took me to graduate high school?'_

Sighing, I open the truck door.

"You think he will?" Darry asks just as I go to leave.

I glance over my shoulder.

"Will Pony work it out for himself?"

God, I hope so. It's bad enough seeing him so damaged. When we first arrived at Vietnam, I didn't know what to expect. Would we survive it? That's all we'd focused on was - surviving. None of us had thought about what life would be like when we returned.

Now we're beginning to find out. And it ain't easy.

"Sure, with time," I lie.

I have to give the Curtis brothers some peace of mind.

"Take care, Two-Bit," Darry says warmly. "It's good to have your back."

"It's fucking good to be back." And that's the truth.

* * *

Mom's upset. I knew she would be. She's getting cross at me soon as I limp through the door.

"Sorry old girl," I tell her. "Just been ages since I've been anywhere."

Her face softens. Tears fill her eyes. She kisses me on the cheek.

"Have you eaten anything?"

"Chocolate cake."

Soda had made it. And it was a normal chocolate color. Which worries me, because it appears he's beginning to lose his quirkiness and some of his cheerfulness too. Everything and everyone is a fucking worry now.

"Keith Matthews," she scolds. "Chocolate cake ain't dinner."

She ushers me into the kitchen and makes me sit down. "I'll heat up your dinner in the microwave."

"Ya trying to kill me with radiation poisoning now, mom. You know those things ain't safe."

"Says who," she scoffs, placing my dinner in the plastic square box.

"I read it in the newspaper."

She raises an eyebrow. "You read now?" she quips.

I grin and shake my head. "Ain't much else to do."

"You can't believe everything they say."

The microwave dings, and she takes the plate out with a cloth, placing it in front of me. I'm not really that hungry, but I don't want to offend her.

"Give it a few minutes to cool down."

I glance down at the plate suspiciously. When did the old girl buy a microwave? I don't like it. All these changes. Like my kid sister. Acting all grown up now she's 14.

"Is there any beer to wash it down with?" I ask.

My mom clucks her tongue disapprovingly, but still gets me a beer.

Karen comes waltzing into the room. She folds her arms at the sight of me.

"Bit late isn't it?"

I frown up at her. Since when did she start wearing make-up? "What happened to ya face? You get in a fight or something?"

She scowls at me. "You have no taste."

A slow grin crosses my face. "You don't need all that gunk on ya pretty face."

She smiles, a real warm genuine smile. Now there's my kid sister. She's sits down at the table and starts talking about school, friends, the new girl and how much of a bitch she is.

This is normal. I like it. Haven't felt this normal in a long while. It's nice to be home.

* * *

It's almost midnight by the time I go to my bedroom. I take in its simple decor. Nothing's changed here. I'm glad to sit on my bed and remove the artificial leg. I hate wearing it. It's always a relief to take the damn thing off. I feel like throwing it out the window. I rub at the stump, and scowl. Some things take a lot of time to get used too. Looking at what's left of my leg is one of them. It's an odd thing. Feels odd too. I grimace. Sometimes I still expect it to be there. Look down and see my leg like it used to be. But it ain't. It's just a stump. I'm never gonna be able to cross my legs again. Kick a football. Run. Wrestle and chase my kid sister around the house, threatening to tickle her death, wash all that gunk of her face. Well I still do threaten her that, but I don't have a hope in hell catching her.

I feel the weight of responsibility probably for the first time in my life. I've grown up. The war forced me too. Now I think about what I can do to support my mom and sister. I have to do something. I've been giving them money for the last year, and I know it's made a big difference. Mom's brought some new furniture. The place is looking a bit more spruced up than it used too. She even brought me a new bed. They've been better off. Now the money's stopped and I'm – I hate to say it – kinda handicapped. What use am I gonna be? Go back to making the old girl work two jobs to support us? I'm 24 now. I gotta start doing something.

I reach for the bottle of bourbon in my bedside table. Just a night cap, I tell myself. Just to help me sleep. It's nothing new. I've always relied on alcohol to see me through. Now I need it more than ever. I don't sleep like I used too. I might not get nightmares, though my dreams are messed up, I just don't sleep well. Sometimes it takes me hours to get to sleep. I lie there is frustration. Alcohol helps with that. If I drink enough of it, I'll fall asleep.

So I pour another one.

When I'm merrily half cut, I lie down, trying to find a comfortable position. The foot I no longer have itches. I go to scratch it, find nothing there and swear under my breath. "Fuck that."

My thoughts drift to Ponyboy, as they often do. Pony, full of rage, pain and racked with guilt. I know his rage is because of what happened to me. I'm gonna have to knock some sense into his stubborn head. Tell him that I wouldn't change a thing. I'd still go to Vietnam with him despite losing a leg. Truth is, I'd never felt so connected to another person before as I did during that time. We might be damaged now, but who says ya gonna go through life unscathed.

It's just gonna take a while to adjust.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Two-Bit's finally home! That was fun to write. I generally have a gist of where I want this story to go, but not everything is set in concrete. Little things like, what sort of job should I give Two-Bit? I'd love to hear some suggestions on that one. As I don't really have an idea yet. I've vaguely alluded to some things which may or may not come to pass depending on people's responses to this chapter. Should Pony see Cherry again or not? Some ideas float around in my head, and I generally insert a character as a means to advance the story in relation to another character. One thing is for sure, the storm definitely isn't over, we're just having a slight lull for this chapter at least. Plenty of angst still come!

Please leave a review! Tell me what you most like about the chapter, or something you might like to see happen.

Cheers!


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:** I would just like to say thank you to HappierThanMost, who gave me an idea for Two-Bit's job which I've used in this chapter. Thanks to all for the great reviews!

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 25.**_

* * *

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Two-Bit's hell bent on finding a job. He's been back home for a month. I see him every day. He comes over at around ten in the morning. Sit's at the table and searches the job employment section of the newspaper.

"What's the hurry?" I ask him, handing him a plate with a piece of cake on it.

"I've been sitting on my ass for the last five months. I'm bored out of my brain."

I sit down, watch him tear a piece of paper out. "Here's something you could do." He shoves the piece of paper my way.

I squint down at it. "Dishwasher at Joe's Diner," I scowl.

He raises an eyebrow. "It'll keep you out of trouble."

I know he's referring to the fresh round of bruises on my face. I got into some punch up at Buck Merrill's two nights ago.

"I didn't start it," I tell him.

I just got involved. Couldn't help it. I was itching for a fight, and at least I'm not taking it out on anyone I know.

"You can hold your own in a fight, Pony. You and I have been in worst scrapes in Nam, but Darry and Soda don't know how to take it. You never liked fighting before."

"I know," I sigh, stabbing the uneaten cake with a fork.

I was the one that fought in self-defense. Two-Bit went with the flow, to conform. I remember asking them and coming to the conclusion that Soda fought for fun, Steve hatred and Darry for pride. It seems so long ago now – that night – the rumble, Johnny and Dallas dying. One a hero, the other a young hood.

Now, I fight out of anger. And my brothers are finding the changes in me hard to take. They worry. They always worry. They don't understand. Some nights I just have to get out of the house. They don't try to stop me, not after the incident with Soda. Which I still feel lousy about. Still hate myself for it.

"You gonna eat that or not," Two-Bit quips.

I push the plate towards him. I don't feel like eating. He pushes the plate back at me.

"Fuck, but you need it more than me, and I'm already putting on too much weight. Old girl is feeding me too much." His eyes glance over me. "At least you no longer look like you've spent six months in a prison camp."

"Thanks." I think.

My face isn't quite as gaunt as it used to be. In the two months I've been home I've probably gained 10 pounds. Still not much in the scheme of 35 pounds, but it's a start.

Two-Bit folds up the paper. "Let's drive out to Lake Claremore and do some fishing."

I frown, take a forkful of cake. "We never catch anything there."

He just gives me that look, the kind that implies he's not about to let me hang around the house wallowing in my own frustrations, so by the evening I want to go out and get into a fight, or something. I think he deliberately goes out of his way to keep me that pre-occupied during the day that I'll be too tired to want to go out at night. _And get in trouble_ , as he puts it.

"It's outside, we can drink beer, smoke and enjoy the sunshine."

I reluctantly go. I'm not sure of my disinclination to go there, the name rings a bell. I can't put my finger on it.

Two-Bit likes it outside. He's always dragging me somewhere. He's getting a bit quicker with moving, but still relies on the crutches. It doesn't stop him though. I admire his tenacity. He doesn't much care for people staring, or making a comment. He just shrugs it off and takes it in his stride. Sometimes he jokes about it. Like at the tavern last week. Some old bloke asked how many Viet Cong's he killed, and Two-Bit answered by saying. _"Loads, the more the merrier. Just lock, load and aim whenever the fancy took me."_

Whereas with me, I just want to tell the old codger to mind his own business, which I don't, because he's old. And I can't bring myself to be that disrespectful, somethings are still too ingrained. If he'd been young I would have, not thought twice about it. Which invariably and sometimes ends up in heated words, maybe even a fight.

The old guy hadn't known what to make of Two-Bit's words and left us alone.

" _Ask a stupid question, ya gonna get a stupid answer,"_ Two-Bit had said with a grin before taking a swig of his beer. _"That's the way you gotta handle it, Pony."_

I wish I could, but I can't, too full of anger. I don't get why Two-Bit's not, but he sure is bitter about things. He's not shy in voicing his opinions. He's always had a way with words.

Yesterday there was this moratorium in town. There were a whole bunch of guys on the steps of the town hall talking about all of these atrocities in Vietnam, such things as killing women and children and using napalm and all the other crap that people come out with and, sure, some of it was true but they were laying it on everybody who went there.

When they were finished anyone who wanted to go up to the microphone could have their say.

" _I'm not letting this go,"_ Two-Bit had muttered.

Before I had a chance to stop him, he'd already approached the microphone. I just wanted out of that place. Fade into the background. Because it's not everyone else that's changed - it's us. We're different now.

" _Everybody is talking about all these atrocities our young guys are forced to commit in Vietnam. I'd like to set the record straight for a minute,"_ he'd began. _"I spent nine months with_ _Company C, 2_ _nd_ _Battalion, 506_ _th_ _Infantry Regiment at Camp Evans watching those self-same mothers' sons not committing those atrocities that y'all say they are doing.'_

Some people started booing. But Two-Bit just continued, not bothered by it. Whereas I'm silently fuming.

" _Do you wanna an eye witness or not, because it sounds like ya don't, but I'm gonna give it to you straight.'_

And he did. I just stood there transfixed. He got a fair hearing but there were still a lot yelling out _'baby killer'_ and _'hey, hey, LBJ, how many boys did you kill today.'_

I was glad when it was over. Now it's gonna be even harder to slink under the radar, not that Two-Bit ever can, because of his artificial leg. People see it and automatically know he must have fought in Vietnam.

" _If that's civilians, who wants them.'_ Two-Bit had muttered afterwards.

I made a mental note in my head to never drive pass a town hall in future, and to keep Two-Bit away from the protesters.

At least at Lake Claremore I won't have to worry about that, big open spaces with secluded jetties.

"How about we stop by Joe's Diner before heading out," Two-Bit suggests.

"You want a hamburger?"

"Nah, thought you might as well apply for that job."

"As a dishwasher," I scowl.

"To high and mighty for it," he quips.

I grit my teeth. "No." Though, yeah, maybe. But at least I'd be out the back in the kitchen, and I wouldn't have to deal with people.

"All right then," I mutter begrudgingly.

* * *

Two-Bit waits in the car as I go into the Diner. The place is a bit of a dive. A man in his 50's glances at me. He's thin, with longish grey wiry hair that looks like it could do with a wash. He has a pinched look about him.

"What can I do you for?" he asks.

"I, um, come to apply for the job you had advertised in the paper," I return.

He looks me over. "How old are you?"

"19."

"You worked before?"

I nod. "Yeah, I've had several jobs."

"What was your last one?"

I take a deep breath, hating to say it. "Was drafted into the Army, finished up a month ago."

"Were you in Vietnam?"

"Yes."

He looks me over again. "All right then, I'm desperate. You can start tomorrow, be here by eight in the morning."

Really, that early? I inwardly sigh.

"Thanks, Sir."

I leave the diner and get back in the car.

"So, what happened?" Two-Bit asks.

"I start tomorrow," I mutter, slamming the car door shut.

"You look thrilled, Kid," he remarks.

I shoot him a glare.

"That'll make Darry happy," he cheerily continues.

"What would make Darry happy is if I went to College."

Two-Bit raises a curious eyebrow. "So why don't you? You're smart enough for it."

I start the engine. "Now you're beginning to sound like Darry," I mutter.

Two-Bit shakes his head and lights up a cigarette.

* * *

I last one week at Joe's diner. The boss is a jerk. I tell him to his face, before throwing the apron at him and storming out. If he always treats his staff this way, it's no wonder he's desperate.

"You'll never step a fucking foot in this place again, ya hear me!" he yells at my retreating back. "You Vietnam lot are all the same, nothing but trouble!"

I don't bother to reply and get in my car. I'm hell pissed. I drive to Buck's. That's when I run into Curly Shepherd. He's been in and out of jail, just like he was in and out of reformatory before that. He looks all of his 20 years of age and more. His face is hard, his hair long and greased back.

Our upbringing might be different, but we have one thing in common; we're both in a dark place.

That's when the real trouble begins.

* * *

During the day I hang out with Two-Bit, but sometimes at night I meet up with Curly. When I'm feeling too restless and agitated. We get drunk and stoned, generally end up fighting in some gang related feud. This goes on for months. As do the jobs I can never hold down.

My life continues to spiral out of control along with my drinking. Even Two-Bit makes a comment about it on our recent outing to Brush Creek Park to catch fish that never bite. He has a job now. Sorting out mail in a mail room. _"Boring as hell",_ he tells me, _"but it's a job."_

We're standing on a jetty over the river. Two-Bit leans against the rail for support. The sun beats down. It's unusually hot for September and humid. The humidity always makes my stomach tense up.

"Maybe you need to start easing up a bit on the drinking, Pony. It ain't like you."

I wonder if Darry, or Soda have been in his ear again. Darry's given up saying anything about it, but I know he's disappointed in what I've become. They don't even know about the bottles of bourbon I keep hidden in my closet; just as well.

"But I'm not me anymore," I slowly reply.

A look of regret crosses his face. I have to avert my eyes, ignoring the knot in my stomach. I reel my line in.

"This is pointless. We're never gonna catch anything."

That's when I hear it; a helicopter. I look up and see it fly overhead. I'm not at Brush Creek anymore. I'm back in the jungles of Vietnam, running for my life.

* * *

The sound of the helicopter chills me to my bones, but not as much as the expression on Pony's face. He's standing there, rooted to the spot, trembling. His eyes are wide with unspeakable horror. I grab him by the shoulders, feeling a sick dread.

"Ponyboy!"

I've seen enough of this to know he's having a flashback. My mouth goes dry. "Ponyboy!" I yell again.

"Don't send me be back there," he moans in a hoarse voice, eyes wild and unfocused. "I don't want to go back … you don't know what hell is!"

Where the fuck is he? My mind frantically searches for clues.

"Johnny!" he yells in an anguished voice.

I shake him again, yelling his name. "Ponyboy! You're at home now!"

His terrified eyes meet mine. For a brief moment I'm hopeful he's snapped out of it.

"The Gooks are not far behind," he hisses.

My heart sinks. The hot humid air presses against me.

"We gotta run."

Fuck no!

"I can't run, Pony!"

Even if I could, I would have no chance in catching him, he's that fast. I desperately grab him before he can take off, but he's strong. He struggles to break free.

"Ponyboy! Stop!"

I feel my artificial leg give way, and we both go crashing to the ground. I fall hard, winding myself in the process, taking the brunt of the fall. Ponyboy lands on top of me, ragged breaths rack his lungs.

Tears are streaming down his face. It breaks my heart seeing him like this. It brings back too many bad memories. I've been through this before. I don't want to go through it again. I'm floundering in deep water with no land in sight as the images, smells and screams assault my mind.

Deep breathes, I tell myself. You gotta hold it together. Pony needs you.

"Pony," I manage to gasp, "C'mon, Pony. Snap out of it."

"What if my brains fall out?" he sobs.

Now I remember exactly where we are. In the huey, just after it extracted us from the mountain.

"No brains spilling out, Pony," I tell him.

"W-What about my face?" he gulps. "I-I still have a f-face?"

"Yeah, you're one lucky son of a bitch, Pony, if ever there was one."

He's still shaking, uncontrollably.

"I s-saw … J-Johnny," he murmurs in a broken voice. "He s-said … it wasn't my time yet."

"That's right, Pony. It's not your time. You're with me now. I got you." I hold onto him tightly. "I got you. It's gonna be all right."

I continue to hold him, ignoring the ache in my arms. He might be a lightweight, but right now it feels like he weighs a tonne. Please come back to me, I silently beg.

The minutes drag by, or maybe its hours? I'm fighting my own personal war, trying to control the mental images of Thommo's blown off legs, the terror of that day, the raw emotions I had felt.

Pony's trembling begins to subside. I slowly let go of him and pull myself up into a sitting position. Pony's eyes are still screwed shut, but his breathing is beginning to regulate itself. I run a shaking hand through my hair, hoping to god that's the worst of it. Fuck if I ever want to go through that again. I swipe the tears in my eyes.

"Pull it together," I tell myself.

I begin to inspect myself for any damages. The stump looks fine, but my hip isn't. I try massaging it to get the kink out. "C'mon. C'mon," I mutter trying desperately to get my hip to unlock before Pony comes around. The last thing I need is for him to see I'm hurt. He already fucking beats himself up about everything. This will only set him off the edge, or, in some sort of self-blame rage where he'll go get into another fight, drink himself into oblivion.

He's a fucking worry. I recall his bleak words. _"I'm not me anymore."_

Sadly, he's right about that.

I miss my friend. I want him back. And for a moment – just then – in the middle of his flashback, I had him. Tears burn at the back of my eyes. "Fuck this," I mutter. Some days it's just fucking too hard.

My hip unclicks and the pain eases up, but I'm sorta stuck on the ground.

I see a couple stop and stare at us from the path. What a sight we are. I wave at them. "It's all okay."

Pony begins to stir. I glance down at him. His eyes open. I can see him taking in his surroundings. Then he sits bolt upright, his tortured gaze meeting with mine.

"You back now?" I ask.

He looks pale and in shock, but he nods.

I draw in a deep breath. "Thank god for that. Now let's get the fuck out of here before that chopper gets back and you have another flashback.

Pony runs a trembling hand over his face. I give him a moment to compose himself. "I-I … why are we sitting on the jetty?"

"You went to run, I tried to grab you and we both fell."

His eyes widen, I see the sudden worry on his face. "You're hurt?"

"Nah, just my dignity, what's left of it."

Pony scrambles to his feet, raking his hands through his hair, a distraught look on his face. "We're never gonna be normal again."

I give a dry hallow laugh. Maybe not. But it is what it is. "I need a hand up, Pony."

He glances down at me, takes hold of my hand and hoists me to my feet.

"I'm a fucking basket case," he mutters.

Here we go. "More like a fucking pain in the ass at times," I lightly quip in an attempt to lighten the mood, which doesn't work.

I grab onto the railing as Pony retrieves my walking cane. At least it's an upgrade from crutches.

"You couldn't have helped this, Pony, so don't even get started on some guilt trip," I tell him.

Sometimes it just pays to be blunt with him. He hands me my walking cane.

"However, there are some things you can help," I continue.

He frowns.

"Like drinking yourself to oblivion every night."

He goes still, his expression wary.

"How do you know about that?"

"Soda found your stash and told me about it."

He face pales. "Both Darry and Soda know," he slowly exhales.

"Yeah, they know."

His shoulders sag. "Why'd they not say anything?"

"Would you listen?"

I see the stubborn set of his jaw. I take that as a no.

"Not my place to nag you, kid. It's for you to sort out."

And so far he hasn't. I watch the conflicting emotions on his face, before he turns around and walks down the jetty. Sighing to myself, I go to follow and that's when I feel the sharp twinge of pain in my right knee. Inwardly cursing, I persist with walking. It's a slow process. Each and every step I take, it hurts.

Pony stops at the end of the jetty and turns around.

"You lied!" he accuses, his face like thunder. "You are hurt."

He storms up to me. Terrific, I inwardly sigh.

"Yeah, maybe a bit, just twisted my knee. I've had worse."

He swears under his breath, puts an arm under my shoulder and helps me back to the car.

"You should have let me run," he mutters in a low pained voice. "Next time, don't try to stop me."

* * *

Pony is silent on the drive home. It's not a good sign. I don't say anything, because it won't make a difference. When he's like this, there's no reasoning with him.

"Take me back to your house," I tell him when we're nearly home. "I'll put some ice on the knee for half an hour, it should be fine after that."

"Okay," he sighs.

He helps me inside the house. I hobble to the sofa and sit back. Pony disappears into the kitchen to get an ice pack.

"Hey, there, Pony," I hear Soda speak. "How's your day?"

Pony doesn't answer and walks back in the lounge room. He places the ice pack on my knee, his face set in stone. Soda follows, stands in the doorway.

"What happened?" he asks.

"I fell," I reply.

Pony doesn't meet either mine or Soda's eyes. He merely turns and leaves the lounge room. I lay back, shutting my eyes. Now what the fuck do I do?

"Two-Bit?" Soda speaks, his voice full of questions.

I open my eyes, glance up at him.

"We were at the river fishing, a helicopter flew over and he had a flashback."

Soda let's out a slow hiss. "Again."

"He went to run, I grabbed him and we both fell to the ground and now he's all pissed and blaming himself, as he does."

Soda plonks himself down on the single seat sofa. He runs his hands over his face. "What do we do?"

Good question. "I don't know," I sigh. And I really don't. I'm hurting, I'm tired and feeling sort of empty inside as the inevitable dawns on me.

"I don't think I can reach him anymore."

* * *

I know they're talking about me. I hear their whispered voices through the thin walls. But I ain't hanging around to find out. I know it all already. Getting changed into a pair of jeans and long sleeved black top, I run a comb through my hair. My hands shake. The flashback leaves me feeling raw and unsettled. I can't control my anger, I can't stop the nightmares, and I have absolutely no control over the flashbacks. But I can't stay here and see the sadness in Soda's eyes over the brother he no longer knows, or even Two-Bit. He might give it to me straight, but I can tell he's just as worried as my brothers. I can tell he wishes he had his old friend back. No one needs to say it to my face, I see it in their eyes.

Maybe I should just leave. Get as far away as possible so I don't have to see myself hurting everyone around me.

But I can't. Wild as I am, my brother's still anchor me. As does Two-Bit, even Steve at times, strangely enough. I have to be able to come back from this. For now though, I need an outlet and Curly is it. He revels in a fight as much as I do. I take comfort knowing there is someone else out there whose anger not only equals mine, but surpasses it.

"I'm going out for a bit," I say as I head for the front door.

Soda doesn't say anything, but Two-Bit raises his walking cane, blocking my way.

"I know that look on your face, Pony," he begins. "Nothing good is gonna come out of it if you go off in the mood your currently in."

He's right, but I don't care. I merely push his cane out of the way. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." I leave, closing the door behind me.

* * *

I find Curly at Buck's, like I knew I would. He gives me the once over. "Well if it ain't Ponyboy Curtis, looking for some action," he remarks.

He orders a bottle of bourbon and pours a generous amount into a glass, pushing it my way.

"You've come to the right place," he says. "You look as if ya wanting to fight."

I scull the contents of my glass. "I am."

He grins. "I hear there's gonna be a rumble over at the lot. You in?"

I nod. Curly pours another shot of bourbon into the glass. "Thought you would."

Raising his glass he clinks it against mine. "Here's to beating the crap out of Socs."

I no longer care about gang rivalry, it means nothing to me about why we fight. It's as pointless as the Vietnam War. I fight for the high it gives me, the release of my inner rage. It's like an ugly festering wound that's slowly consuming me.

* * *

We're out numbered, six of us to eight of them. But I like the odds stacked against me. I drank more than I should, and I'm nearly seeing double. I hadn't eaten dinner, which doesn't help. I don't have my usual strength. It has to be the flashback, it leaves me low on energy afterwards. Normally I'd curl up in my bed and sleep it off, or try too. This time it's different, because Two-Bit was with me, and he got hurt. Then I was mad, not at him but myself. During the flashback, I was dimly aware he was there, holding me, just like he did on the chopper. For the first time in a while I felt connected to someone again. I never realized how much I missed it. How lonely I've become.

All of sudden, I don't feel angry anymore. I just feel incredibly sad. My hands drop by my side. What am I doing here? Before I have a chance to respond, one of the Socs lands a punch to my face, sending me reeling backwards. He lays punch after punch. I don't mind. I want to feel pain. I welcome it. It's the only time I feel absolution.

I slump to the ground. My vision blurs. I feel the sharp blows to my ribs from his kicks. I could die, maybe that would be for the best. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more longing for what I've lost. I imagine Darry and Soda's distraught face. Two-Bit, always watching my back, willing to die for me. A steely resolve takes hold. I'm not dying like this. _I'm not gonna die here_. And I'm especially not gonna die at the hands of a Soc.

I roll over, despite the pain to my ribs, grab the Socs ankle and twist with all the strength I have left. I feel his bone snap. He yells out in pain, falling to the ground, clutching his ankle and screaming. "Fucking greaser! You broke my ankle."

There's a screeching of car tyres. Someone yells, "It's the cops!" The same person also yells my name. "Run, Curtis!" I recognize Curly's voice, his face nothing more than a blur. My ribs burn, my head is pounding. I feel bile rise up in my throat. I can just make out the indecisiveness in his eyes.

"I can't," I get out in a hoarse voice. "Just get out of here. You can't afford to get caught. I can."

He nods and takes off. I promptly throw up. Everything is spinning around me. My face is hurting something fierce. The Soc's ankle I snapped is still wailing on the ground, garbling something about how I broke his leg as the cops approach and how it was totally unprovoked.

That's when I feel myself roughly grabbed by my arm. "You're under arrest," a deep voice speaks. "For assault and battery."

I feel the coldness of metal handcuffs clip around my wrists. And all I can think is that I'm screwed. It's my word against the Soc's and their word has always counted for more than ours.

Darry is surely going to kill me. Oddly enough, I feel calm. I deserve this. I had this coming.

* * *

Once at the police station, I'm interviewed for the basic information of my full name, date of birth, and address. I'm finger printed, then photographed. I feel numb throughout this whole process. As if the events happening around me, are not … really happening.

They strip search me, making me remove my clothes. I stand there shivering, humiliated. They gawk at the all the scars to my body, like I'm some kind of freak at a side show.

"That happen to you in Vietnam?" one of the cops asks.

I say nothing. He flings prisoner standard clothing at me. "You can get dressed now."

I manage to get the clothes on, despite the room spinning. All I want to do is lie down and sleep. Hope this is just some nightmare I'll soon wake up from. Only this is tame compared to the violence in my nightmares.

"Okay, we're done here, take him to get medically examined."

Once in the examination room, I'm asked a series of routine questions in regards to my health. The doctor examines my level of my intoxication. He makes me walk a line, which I fail miserably at. He assesses the bruises to my face and chest. "I don't think anything is broken, face is badly bruised," the doc says. "He's fit to be put into the holding cell."

An officer leads me to the holding cells. "You don't talk much," he says.

That's because there's nothing to say, and I'm too drunk to care. I also know anything I say will be used against me and it's best to say nothing at all.

"You are allowed a phone call," he continues. "Is there anyone you want to contact, like your parents?"

The last thing I want is my brothers to see me like this. I need to sober up. Darry's gonna be so angry. I can't even begin to imagine what Soda will think. I've erected a wall between me and him. I can't handle his emotions, the hurt and look of rejection in his eyes.

"I'll call them in the morning."

I'm put into a cell, the officer locks me in. The reality hasn't sunk in yet. I spy the cot and exhaustion takes hold. I lie down, my eyes close. It's gonna be different in the morning. The shit will hit the fan then. I'm doing a good job at screwing up lately, but this tops it all.

* * *

Somethings gotta give. I thought having Two-Bit back home might settle Ponyboy, but it hasn't. His drinking is getting worse. Not that Two-Bit's is going to help him with that, he's just as bad with it. But unlike Ponyboy he doesn't have anger issues. He just gets merry, Ponyboy gets agitated.

I don't bother trying to stop him when he goes out at night, especially when he's in a mood. He's old enough to do what he wants. I know he sometimes goes to Buck's place. I know he sees Curly there, when his frame of mind is at its darkest. That worries the hell out of me. I also know he gets into fights. He'll come home with either a split lip, or bruises to his face.

Soda and I don't say anything. But it's hard not to. It's hard to watch Ponyboy as an angry young man, hell bent on destroying his life. It'll pass, I keep telling myself. But the only thing to pass are the months. They roll by. Pony's had several different jobs, he can't hold down. Shitty jobs at that. I did mention he try back at the bank. But he refuses. He's a bright kid. Too smart to waste his life in this way. It's been six months since he's been home. I'm at my wits end. I don't know what to do with him.

When I get home from work. I find both Soda and Two-Bit sitting in the lounge, Two-Bit with an ice pack on his knee. Both him and Soda looking miserable.

"What now? What's Ponyboy done now?"

I soon learn that Ponyboy had a flashback at the lake. Two-Bit got hurt trying to stop him running. Ponyboy was upset and angry. He stormed out of the house.

"You gotta find him?" Soda implores after he returns from taking Two-Bit home.

"And do what?"

"I just got a bad feeling about this."

"He's always come home before."

I know I don't get to sleep till he does. I lie awake in bed listening for the sound of his footsteps, the closing of his door. Then I can breathe a sigh of relief, though short lived. I wonder if he's in his bedroom, drinking the stash of hidden bourbon he doesn't think we know about.

"But this is different Darry," Soda runs a hand through his hair, his face full of worry.

He struggles more than any of us with the changes in Ponyboy. The brother that once adored him barely acknowledges his existence.

"Ponyboy will find his own way home when he's ready," I sigh wearily.

A look of defiance crosses Soda's face. He pursues his lips. "Then I'll find him." It's not often Soda gets this way.

"You might not like what you find."

"I'm not liking much of anything since Pony's been home," Soda slowly returns. "I don't even know my own brother anymore."

His face is etched with pain. I rest a hand on his shoulder and give it a light squeeze.

"I just want him back, Darry," he stammers, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Like he used to be."

"Don't we all," I mutter. "I think it's best if you let it go, Soda. Let Ponyboy find his own way home."

A defeated look crosses his face. His shoulders slump. "Okay."

* * *

I barely sleep, waiting for Ponyboy to come home. At one point I get up and check his room, but it's empty. It's three in the morning, normally he's home by now, so where is he? It seems I'm going to spend my whole lifetime worry about this kid. I wish more than ever that mom and dad were here. They'd know what do. Though I'm not sure they could help him either. I don't think anyone can. It feels like a rock has settled in the pit of my stomach. What if Pony doesn't get better? What if we never really get him back? I swallow the lump in my throat. I can't let my thoughts go there. Up until this point I've backed off. Kept my thoughts and words to myself, but is it doing any good? Do I need to start getting more proactive with him, confront him about his drinking? Would that even work? I'm totally lost on what to do with him. Sue suggested putting him into counselling, but I can really see Ponyboy going along with that. Sighing, I check on Soda next. He's sleeping at least. I can hear him softly snoring. Maybe Soda was right, maybe I should have gone looking for Ponyboy. I have an idea on where he might be, at Buck's with Curly, doing who knows what.

I'll give it another hour.

Despite my worry, I manage to fall asleep. The shrill of the phone startles me awake. I stumble out of bed. It's now six in the morning. I answer the phone with trepidation.

"Darry."

It's Ponyboy. My relief is palpable, but short lived. I feel an anger take hold.

"Where the hell are you?"

He goes quiet for a moment. This can't be good.

"I'm in the lock up," he stammers. "I-I was in a fight, the cops showed up a-and I got arrested."

I try not to explode. I try real hard. But I can't hold it in any longer. All the pent up pain and frustration finds its way out.

"You're screwing your life up, Ponyboy!"

I hear his sharp, indrawn breath. "I know."

His words break my heart, which until now I didn't think could get anymore broken. I take a deep fortifying breath. "I'll be there shortly."

Slamming the phone back on the hook, I turn to see Soda standing there, pale and worried. "What is it, Darry? Why were you yelling at him?"

"Because …" I begin in a thick voice. "I gotta go see him."

I numbly make my feet move.

"Darry?"

"He's in the lock up, Soda. He's been arrested."

* * *

After my phone call, I'm allowed to have a shower. I turn on the tap, but the water does little to soothe me. Darry's mad. I've not heard him yell like that in a long while. I don't blame him. I want him to yell at me. I want to see him rant and rave, give me what I deserve. His words echo in my ears - _'You're screwing up your life!'_ I feel the humiliation. Hot tears burn at the back of my eyes. I fight them back and remind myself that I deserve this.

Once done in the shower, I get dressed. My hands shake as I attempt to button up the plain grey shirt.

I glance at my pitiful reflection in the mirror. I gingerly touch my bruised, swollen face in the mirror. It's bad. Fuck. How I'm gonna face Darry and Soda. I take in my greasy hair, which hangs down in clumps around my face. I haven't had a haircut since I've been home. I haven't washed my hair in weeks.

I look like shit. I haven't cared about my appearance, I haven't cared much about anything.

* * *

I'm taken back to my cell. They give me a plain sandwich, but at least it has peanut butter in it and a jug of water. I scull down the contents of the jug, and nibble the sandwich. My stomach feels like it's tied up in knots, as I wait for Darry to come and the fall out that's bound to follow.

Before I know it, it's here.

"You have a visitor," an Officer speaks.

I glance up from where I sit, and into Darry's familiar face. The expression on his face is what I had expected; disappointment mingled with a sort of sadness.

Darry has spent the last six years worrying about me. I know he's finding it difficult to come to terms with the knowledge that the boy I'd once been is never going to return to him as maybe he'd hoped; whole, innocent – the same.

Slowly getting to my feet, I walk over to the bars. I grip them tightly with my hands, forcing myself to meet Darry's troubled eyes.

"I'm sorry," I mutter in a tight, hoarse voice.

Darry nods. "I know you are." He takes a deep breath. "But it doesn't change what you've done."

I feel a tightness in my stomach.

"Can't change it now," I murmur feeling utterly wretched. "Wish I could."

I swallow, fighting back tears. Darry raises a hand, placing it on my shoulder, his face sad and hurting.

"You look like hell, Ponyboy." His jaw clenches. "Who did that to your face?"

"A Soc," I sigh, "I was in a rumble last night with Curly."

Darry's eyes bore into mine.

"We were outnumbered. I copped a hammering," I continue.

"Is it the same Soc you're been accused of assaulting."

I nod, feeling even more ashamed. "Yes."

Darry ran a hand up the back of his neck, his face growing dark with anger. "You broke his ankle."

The police must have informed him about what happened.

"I was on the ground, he wouldn't' stop kicking me, and I did what I had to do to defend myself."

"That's not how the police see it."

"I know."

"You need to tell the truth, Ponyboy. That you were both in a rumble because as it stands now … if you get accused of aggravated assault and battery, you could go to jail."

"But then I'd have to give away the names of the people involved."

"Yeah and you will. Because there ain't no way I'm letting you take the fall."

My grip on the bars tighten. Darry is still fuming. I watch him pace.

"If the charges are downgraded to just 'disturbing the peace', the worst you'll get is a fine and community service. And you don't want to have a criminal record, Ponyboy."

Silences follows as the enormity of my situation hits home. I've really fucked up now. I can see Darry is struggling. I wait for him to rant some more, but a bleak look shadows his face.

"Soda wants to see you," he murmurs in a low voice.

My head jerks up. "No," I quickly return. "I-I don't want him to see me like this."

Darry's face darkens. "Then you should have thought about that before you decided to get drunk and into a fight!"

He steps closer. "You will see your brother, and you will talk to him, because he doesn't deserve your cold shoulder treatment. He's a mess because of you."

I feel as if I've been slapped in the face. I swallow. Darry telling me off proper and good. I wish he'd done it sooner. Tears threaten. I don't want Soda to be a mess because of me. I know I keep hurting him by pushing him away, not letting him get to close to me. I don't think about what it's doing to him.

"Okay," I sigh, my throat aching with repressed tears.

Darry's face softens a fraction. "You still need him as much as he needs you."

* * *

Soda makes me feel too much, that's why I shut him out. I know soon as I see him I'm gonna feel like bawling. I'm way too vulnerable. I stand at the bars, clutching them tightly when Soda enters. He apprehensively approaches me, looking pale, anxious and tired.

"Hey, Pony," he begins, but his voice breaks off there when his eyes rest on my battered face. I see him flounder in a well of emotion. "Fuck," he hisses. "Your face … Pony."

Tears fill his eyes.

"I know, it's bad, but nothings broken," I hastily tell him. "Just bruises, they'll fade soon enough."

My voice shakes. Soda's sad eyes meet mine. I'm feeling wretched all over again. "I'm sorry," I stammer, trying to control the tears. "I-I'm sorry I shut you out." I swallow. "Don't mean to."

"I can't lie. It hurts," he confesses.

I nod, and the tears I've been fighting to hold back spill out.

"Hey, Pony," Soda says softly, resting a hand on my arm. "I know ya struggling, and you sure have got yourself in some big trouble now."

I wipe the tears away. "That's an understatement," I mutter. "Darry's angry."

"Yeah, I haven't seen him that angry in a long time. He poured your stash of bourbon down the sink."

I'd momentarily forgotten they knew about that. Feeling ashamed, I avert my eyes from Soda.

"Don't matter. I gotta stop sometime."

Soda, thankfully doesn't say anything about it.

"I brought you some books to read and your glasses."

I look at the books tucked up under his arm. He hands them to me. My throat tightens. Soda's always been the thoughtful one, always thinking of others before himself. He pulls my glasses out of his pocket, along with a toothbrush and hair comb.

I raise an eyebrow at the comb. "That bad, huh?"

He manages a smile. "Yeah."

I take the comb and attempt to comb my hair, but the comb immediately gets stuck in my hair which is full of knots. Soda's smile widens. I feel the corners of my mouth tilt up in a returning smile. "Don't think this is gonna do much good."

"Don't worry about it, Pony. You're gonna have to get a haircut when you go to court and shave off that scraggly beard. Turn ya back into a respectable member of the community."

I know he's trying to lighten the mood, but the word 'court' hangs its gloomy threat over me. I've gotten myself into this mess. I don't know how I'm gonna get out of it. I never imagined I'd end up in here. Never imagined I'd screw my life up. But then I'd never imagined surviving Vietnam.

Slowly, blinking heavily, I make an effort to raise my eyes to Soda's. "You think I'll get better?"

A shadow passes over his face. "I hope so."

Both of his hands reach through the bars, and gently grip me by my shoulders. I see the empathy in his eyes. I don't deserve it. It hurts to look at him.

"You've got to fight it, Pony. I know you're strong enough, just don't give up on yourself."

It's hard to do when I hate myself so much. I want to believe him. I want to believe the conviction of his words.

I just don't know if I can. But I nod. I gotta give him that much, gotta let him believe that I'll try. Even if I believe I can't.

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! As always, reviews are very much appreciated! They do inspire me to write despite my current writer's block, which always happens from time to time. Sigh. Ugh. I'm trying to persist through it and not making you all wait a month till it gets better! Luckily I'm on holidays which does give me plenty of time to persist :)

This story should wrap itself up in a couple of more chapters.

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	26. Chapter 26

**A/N:** Thanks for all the reviews to date! They always bring a smile to my face and make me very happy, so keep them coming!

I have a starting point and an end point for my chapters and sometimes they are just long! Like this one! I think this is the longest chapter yet, but I had fun writing it.

Enjoy!

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* * *

 **Chapter 26.**

* * *

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The hours slowly tick by. I try reading a book, but the words blur in and out of focus despite wearing glasses. I can't concentrate. How I wish for my own bed to sleep off the hangover. I'm out of cigarettes too. Pity Soda didn't think to get me a packet. I lay back on the cot, inwardly groaning. The worst thing to come out of this is what I've put my brothers through. Six months of hell. Six months of getting in and out of fights, excessive drinking, which I once vowed I would never do and shutting the people that matter the most to me out of my life. I think that is the worst. Oddly enough, I don't feel the rage which has been my constant companion since returning home. Now, I just feel listless with an endless array of questions and accusations buzzing through my head. I've really blown it. I deserve it. What if I go to jail? I deserve to go to jail. The thought appeases something in me. Like an absolution for all the wrong things I've done. It's ironic that I get sent to war to kill, but back home I'm in prison for being in a fight. Breaking the Soc's ankle is nothing in comparison to the amount of Viet Cong's I've killed. I guess their lives have no meaning. It just doesn't seem right, that I end a kid's life for fighting in a cause he strongly believes in. And whether I had no say in going to war, I was still there. Sure, it's kill or be killed, but it doesn't change the fact that I took that boys life. His eyes still haunt me in my sleep. I dimly wonder for how much longer.

Tossing the book aside, I spy the hair comb. Picking it up, I attempt to comb the knots out of my hair, persisting with it. Eventually I get them all out. My hair is greasy, but not from the oil kind, more like not having washed it in a while. I just don't think of it. Not like I could in Vietnam. We didn't use soap or deodorant because that meant the Cong could smell us from a mile away. Some habits learned there take a while to break. Like shaving, I do it once a week.

When out on patrol, we didn't shave, and rarely bathed. Then we'd get back from patrol, scrub ourselves clean, shave and try to look presentable. That's how it was. But now I have my brothers reminding me all of the time, as if I've lost the ability to think of simple everyday things anymore.

My tongue pokes the teeth that were knocked loose in last night's fight. There is about four of them. I inspect them in the small mirror attached to the wall, grimacing at my bruised, swollen face. I wonder if they'll fall out. Can you fix loose teeth? Not like I'm gonna get to go to a dentist in jail. I sit back on the bed, feeling nauseous. My head is pounding.

"You have a visitor, Curtis," an officer speaks from the doorway.

I look up to see Two-Bit. The events from the previous day flicker through my mind like a film in rewind; the flashback and Two-Bit helping me at the risk of his own safety. A fresh wave of shame washes over me.

"We'll, you really got yourself in a pickle now, kid."

I gingerly get to my feet, my ribs may not be broken but they still hurt. "I know," I mutter, approaching the bars. "You got any smokes?"

Two-Bit hands me a packet, his eyes resting of my face.

"Looks like you got the worse end of it."

I pull a cigarette out and light it. "I kinda loss momentum half way through the rumble." When my anger turned to sadness. I don't add that part. "I should have listened to you."

Two-Bit shrugs. "You wanted to let of steam, don't blame you. Almost wished I was there."

He leaves out the unspoken words, _but I can't, can't fight with one leg_. I feel the all too familiar stab of guilt.

"So what happened?" he asks.

"We were outnumbered, and this one Soc is laying into me with his fists. I end up on the ground, and he's kicking me. I snapped his ankle. Didn't mean too. Survival instincts kicked in."

Two-Bit raises raises an impressive eyebrow. "The Army taught us well," he mutters. "They're charging you with assault?"

I nod. "Possibly aggravated assault as I did break his ankle." I swallow.

He hisses, looking pissed. "That's serious, kid. You can do jail time for that."

I draw back on the cigarette. "Nothing more than I deserve."

His eyes narrow. "What the fuck, Pony!" he exclaims. "You don't deserve it. You were both there of your own free will." His words trail off there as realization dawns on his face. "You want this?" It's more a statement than a question.

I avert my gaze from his accusing one. "You think going to prison is going to make you feel better about killing that kid?"

I don't say anything. Trust Two-Bit to see straight through me. He's uncanny like that.

"Because it won't," he continues. "Prison will only make you worse. We all saw what it did to Dallas."

Dallas' words come back to mind, that day in the car, driving back to the church and Dallas, pleading with Johnny not to turn himself in, _'you get hardened in jail. I don't want that to happen to you. Like it happened to me.'_

"It'd kill me to see that happen to you, Pony. So don't even fucking think about it."

A lump forms in my throat.

Two-Bit's right. "No," I murmur sadly. "I don't want to end up like him."

Relief flickers in his eyes. "So, you're gonna fight this you here."

"How?"

"What about the Soc?"

"He's claiming it was unprovoked."

"It won't hold-up if you have a couple of witnesses."

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. "You think Curly shepherd is a witness they'll listen to? He's been in and out of prison."

Two-Bit lights a cigarette, the slight shake of his hand doesn't go unnoticed by me. "He's still a witness."

"Providing that he'll testify."

His face darkens. "He'll testify." I know he will, there is still loyalty among greasers. But I don't know how much of a difference it'll make. It looks bleak to me.

"Can I have another smoke?"

He pushes the packet at me. "Keep them. I'll buy some more when I leave."

"Thanks," I murmur.

He shakes his head, looking grim. "You're the last person I'd ever thought to see behind bars."

I blow the smoke out of my lungs. My head spins. This is what I've become now. A dull ache resides in my chest.

"How's the knee?" I ask, needing a distraction.

"Better," Two-Bit returns. "As I said, kid. I've had worse." His eyes lock with mine. "What you need to do, Pony, is stop beating yourself up about stuff out of your control."

I avert me gaze away from the fierce intensity in his eyes. My throat tightens. If only it were that easy.

An officer enters. "The Attorney is here to see you," he says, unlocking the cell.

I welcome the interruption.

Two-Bit tosses his cigarette in the ash tray. "I'll go get Darry."

"Darry's here?"

"Where else is he gonna be?"

"Big muscly guy, been pacing reception and harassing everyone. We got the attorney out here as quick as we could to shut him up," the officer mutters as he handcuffs me.

Two-Bit grins. "Yep, that'll be Darry."

Even I manage a smile.

* * *

The Attorney is a man in his late 30's. He explains the process to me. He's straight down the line.

"At this point you're being charged with aggravated assault and battery. It is my advice that you plead not guilty."

I chance a glance at Darry's face which is set in stone.

"The victim, David Valance, is standing by his word that you attacked him unprovoked."

All the color drains out of my face. Valance – What the hell?! Surely he's no relation to Cherry? My heart starts pounding in my chest. I know she has a brother, but the Soc punching me last night wasn't him. He must have been all of 18 years of age, and her brother was a lot older.

"A nearby neighbor contacted the police about a fight taking place in the vacant lot," the Attorney continues. "He said there were at least half a dozen men. That will account for something, that you were both at that scene. As for the bruises to your face, how did you get them?"

"I … um, he was punching me. I lost my footing and ended up on the ground." The name Valance is still buzzing in my ears. "He was kicking me … I grabbed him by the ankle and … his ankle snapped."

My mouth goes dry. "I didn't mean to, I was just trying to get him to stop."

"You have any bruising there."

I nod.

"Can you show me?"

I hesitate and glance at Darry. "Show him, Ponyboy."

Slowly, I lift my shirt up. The Attorney inspects the damage. I don't miss the shock in his eyes at the extent of my scars. This just continues to get fucking better.

"Mind if I take photos."

What choice do I have? "Okay," I sigh, might as well let the whole world see them.

The Attorney takes photos of my bruised ribs and face. All the while scribbling stuff down on paper. I sit there feeling humiliated.

"You were in Vietnam?"

"Yes."

"Is that how you got the scars?"

"Yes."

He continues to question me about my mental state since returning home, which I'm reluctant to answer.

"If you plead not guilty, you will have a court trail in a months' time and if by chance they do find you guilty then we will need to appeal," he explains. "If they determine that you've been suffering mental problems as a result of being at war, then they may give you a suspended sentence, in which you get probation and do community service. They will also put you on some rehabilitation program, but it means you won't have to go to jail."

I'll just be labelled a nut case, I think to myself. It's probably near enough to the truth.

* * *

The courtroom is buzzing with prosecutors, defense attorneys, and defendants, all waiting for the judge to call their cases. It's kinda hectic and crazy. The judge informs me of the charges against me and any rights I have as a defendant.

The Attorney speaks of my behalf. Darry confirms my community ties as my older brother.

"How do you plea, Ponyboy Curtis?"

My mouth is so dry, but I manage to speak up. "Not guilty."

"What is the recommendation for bail?" the judge asks the Attorney.

"As this is his first offence, and given lack of evidence at this point, I recommend the defendant should be released on his own recognizance."

The judge takes a moment to consider. "Granted, on the following conditions. No contact with witnesses. No use of drugs or alcohol. No association with other defendants. No new arrests. No association with known criminals. No possession of weapons, and no travel outside the county or state. If the defendant violates any of these conditions, the court will rescind the ROR and hold the defendant without bond."

At just like that it's over. It's so quick and not nearly as painful as I feared.

"Court date will be set 20 days from now, on the 5th October."

* * *

The Attorney advises me to go into therapy and join an alcohol rehabilitation program, which I'm not thrilled about. It'll work in my favor, he tells me. Seeing the determined look on Darry's face, I'm not gonna have much choice. As it is I'm not allowed to drink alcohol before my court date, so I guess my drinking days are over. I've become so dependent on it that I feel a sudden panic. What about the nightmares? How else am I gonna stop them? How am I gonna cope?

* * *

By six o'clock that evening I'm finally back home. Soda has cooked dinner. Seeing the happy grin on his face brings a smile to my lips.

"Pony," he exclaims, catching me in a warm embrace. "Thank God you're home."

"It's good to be home." I suddenly realize just how true those words are. I know my ordeal isn't over, but at least I'm no longer in the lock up.

"I made spaghetti," he continues.

"From a tin?" I ask.

"Yeah but I added stuff to it," he grins.

Darry and I exchange a worried glance.

"Like what?" Darry inquires.

"Just mince and ketchup."

At this point I don't care. I'm so hungry I'll just about eat anything.

* * *

"So what happened?" Soda asks at the dinner table. "I wasn't expecting Pony to be released so soon."

"He had a good Attorney. Advised Ponyboy to plead not guilty at the arraignment and was granted ROR with conditions." Darry places an emphasis on the words _'with conditions'_ and gives me a pointed look.

I take a forkful of spaghetti which is surprisingly not too bad. I slowly negotiate chewing on the left side of my mouth.

"You know the seriousness of that, Ponyboy."

"I know."

"It means no drinking," he continues. "In the morning I'm going to get you into therapy and rehabilitation for your alcohol addiction."

I stop chewing, feeling the humiliation. This is what my life has come to now. Soda shoots me a sympathetic look.

"Don't worry Darry, don't think I'll be stepping a foot out of the house for a while," I mutter and put another forkful of spaghetti in my mouth.

Darry frowns. "Why are you eating so slowly?"

"Some of my teeth were knocked loose."

"How many?"

I swallow the food in my mouth. "Four."

His jaw clenches.

"Bryant's Dental Clinic is still open till nine," Soda suggests.

"It can wait till tomorrow," I begin.

"No. It can't."

* * *

Darry drags me off to the dentist, despite my protests. I'm so tired, I just want to go to bed. I don't give a fuck about my teeth.

"What are they gonna do at this time of night, Darry?"

"I gotta work tomorrow."

"So, I can go by myself."

I can tell by Darry's stern profile that he's reluctant to let me out of his sight. "I just rather you be with someone when you go out, Ponyboy."

I'm not about to argue. I'm really not in not a position too. Plus, I'm so tired that I can't be bothered.

* * *

The dentist inspects my loose teeth. He hasn't stopped with the tsk tsk. "This is why you don't get into fights."

I frown. I don't need a lecture. I get one anyway. How you only get one set of teeth and you need to look after them. Young men always fighting, fighting is futile and on and on he went till my ears ached as much as my face did.

"Both Molars, and pre-molars are displaced right upper top teeth," he informs me as he removes his gloves, dispensing of them in a bin.

He peers at me over his spectacles. "You'll need braces to fix them."

I scowl. Is he serious?

"Can't you just pull them out?"

"I don't advise it. If I were to pull them out it's going to affect the other teeth, they'll move out of place and be subject to decay. You're still too young for that. Not only that, you already have significant overlap of your incisors, especially your bottom teeth."

I have a dim memory of being informed of this before, back when I was 13. Mom and dad didn't really have the money, but mom sort of pushed for it. _I don't mind having crooked teeth_ , I'd told them. The last thing I wanted was braces, everybody who had them were mercilessly teased all the time.

It never happened. Two months later mom and dad were killed in a car accident and there was no money.

"What'll happen if I don't have braces?" I ask.

"The teeth will continue to loosen and you risk losing them, four major teeth in a row is a significant loss," he points out.

"I'll discuss it with my brother," I mumble.

Of course Darry is gonna agree with the dentist. The dentist takes a mould of my teeth, and the receptionist makes an appointment for me to have them fitted tomorrow at two in the afternoon.

* * *

"You know how much that is going to cost," I tell Darry on the way home in the truck.

He glances sideways at me. "You still have some money, right?"

Not much. I've spent too much on booze and marijuana. I'm not about to tell Darry that. He doesn't know about the marijuana. And I only ever smoked it when I was with Curly.

"I might just have enough to cover it," I mutter, but then I'm left with nothing. Making me dependent on my brothers once again.

"I can give you some money towards it."

I cross my arms and glare out of the window.

"I think I'll take my chances without the braces."

"You might not care now, Ponyboy, but you will later down the track."

Damn it. And how the hell am I gonna get a job? I'm soon to be a convicted felon.

"No one's gonna employ me now," I murmur dismally.

The seriousness of my situation hits home even more. I've really done a good job at screwing up my life.

"If the charges are dropped from a felony to an infraction it won't go on your record," Darry points out. "It shouldn't affect you getting a job."

That's a lot of ifs. I can't see that happening.

"And what about therapy? That'll cost money too."

"Money worth spent though, kiddo. If it helps you get better."

Will it though? I glance at Darry, noticing the slight wry smile on his face.

"What?" I demand.

"It's just that … I haven't heard you stress about money since …"

"I made you go to College," I finish for him.

He nods. "Yeah, you almost sound like your old self again." He sighs.

For however long that lasts. I want to reassure Darry that it will, but I don't know. I need something to focus on, find some other way to deal with my anger and frustrations when they arise. Right now I don't feel either, but that doesn't mean it'll stay that way.

* * *

Once home I go straight to bed. Surprisingly I fall asleep soon as my head hits the pillow. It'll be the first night I haven't had a drink in over five months. I sleep soundly too. No nightmares.

I'm woken up by Soda. He's smiling and looking much too cheerful. I groan, pull the pillow over my head and tell him to go away.

"Can't do that, Ponyboy," he says, poking me in the ribs. "Cause guess what day it is today."

"I don't care what day it is," I mumble.

He pulls the pillow off me.

"It's your birthday."

I squint up at him. "It is?"

The smile drops off his face. "You forget your own birthday?!"

I slowly sit up. I had.

"It's just another day," I begin, realizing how miserable I sound.

"You're 20."

I push the hair out of my eyes. "20 and getting braces," I mutter. "Some birthday present."

The smile returns to his face. "Yeah well, at least you'll still have teeth."

"With metal on them," I point out.

"I got you a card and a present."

He hands them to me. I take them from him, my heart does a funny little lurch.

"Thanks."

I open the card and read it. _Dear Pony, Happy 20_ _th_ _birthday. Despite everything, you'll always be my brother. We stick together, that's what brothers do. I'm just glad to have you home, buddy. Love Soda._

Words get stuck in my throat. I don't know what to say.

My fingers fumble as I open the present. Once the paper is dispensed, I look down at a roll of film.

"Haven't seen you use the camera in ages, thought it might get you interested in it again."

A lump forms in my throat. For a moment I'm unable to speak.

"It's color too, costs more."

I look up at him. "Thanks, Soda."

He lightly punches me in the arm.

"Darry's making breakfast. You'll wanna hurry up and eat something before Steve gets here and eats it all."

Soda bounds out of the bedroom. I push the bed covers aside, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Much to my disconcert I find my eyes damp. "Now ain't the time," I mutter to myself.

It's just that Soda's present touched me in a way I've not felt in ages.

* * *

I stumble into the kitchen, smelling bacon. My stomach grumbles. I'm hungry. I don't even know how I can think of food given the predicament I'm in. Darry turns and looks at me. His eyes assessing to see where I'm at, as they always do.

"Happy birthday, Ponyboy."

I'm feeling all self-conscious. Birthdays always make me feel that way.

"Thanks."

"I got you a card and present."

"Don't tell me, socks and jocks," I quip.

Darry's presents are always so predictable. He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah well, you can never have too much of them."

I smile and for a change it's not forced. "True."

"Now sit down and eat, smart ass." His voice is gruff but warm.

* * *

We've just started breakfast when Steve comes bowling through the back door in typical Steve fashion. "There better be some left over for me."

His eyes rest of my face. He lets out a low whistle. "That Soc beat you up pretty damn good, yet ya don't see him in jail."

"Bit hard when he has a broken ankle."

Steve pulls out a chair, grabs a plate and starts piling food on it. "Fucking typical ain't it."

He looks up at us. "What?" he scowls.

"Ease up on the food, its Pony's birthday," Darry admonishes.

Steve glances my way. "Yeah, that's right. Happy birthday kid." He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a five dollar note. "That's my contribution to the Ponyboy Curtis braces fund." A wide grin crosses his face.

I snatch the five dollar note out of his hand. "Ha, ha, the joke is on me now."

"Yeah, Kid. Hey but don't worry about it. That perfect set of teeth ya gonna have in a year from now will go with that pretty boy face of yours, though it ain't so pretty currently."

And just like that, it's kinda like old times. I'll take it. Had precious little amusement lately. I gotta give my brothers some relief considering what I've put them through. What I still might put them through.

"I rang Two-Bit," Darry begins, retrieving his lunch box from the fridge. "He's finishing up early today at 1.30pm. You've got to pick him up. He's going to go to the dentist with you."

Trust Darry to have me chaperoned.

"I don't think you should leave the house alone," he continues.

"Ya gonna wipe his nose too when it runs," Steve pipes up.

Darry glares at him. "No, but I'll wipe the blood from yours if it gets any mouthier."

Steve shuts up, and I grin to myself. No one messes with Darry.

"If you need to contact me for anything, you can call me at work." He ruffles my hair on his way out the door. He stops, looks down at his hand and grimaces. "I think it's about time you wash your hair, Ponyboy."

* * *

The house is quiet after they've all left. Too quiet. I sit out on the back porch, smoke a couple of cigarettes, contemplate what I'm gonna do with my morning. Here I am, 20 years of age, battling an alcohol addiction and jobless with the possibility of ending up in jail. Way to go. Feeling disgruntled, I go have a shower and wash my hair like Darry instructed.

I pace the small confines of my bedroom. Make my bed. Pace some more. My thoughts drift to the Soc's name, David Valance. What if he is related to Cherry? What if she learns it's me who broke his ankle? And so what if she does, not like I'm ever going to see her again. As far as I know she's not even living in Tulsa. I yank her letter out of my top drawer and squint down at the return address. She's living in Claremore, that's only an hour from here. No wonder I was apprehensive about going to the lake. I'm surprised I didn't run into her there. Our paths have a strange way of crossing.

I shove the letter back in the drawer. Truth is, I don't want her to know how low I've stooped. How much I've screwed up. What I've become. The thought makes me queasy in the stomach.

* * *

Two-Bit finds the whole idea of me having braces highly amusing. As I knew he would. I'm never gonna live this down. He has a big grin on his face when he gets in the car.

"Don't say it," I mutter.

"So I'm gonna be your chaperone again, huh?" he quips. "Darry ain't gonna let you out of his sight."

"I know," I sigh. "That's what you get for screwing up."

"Hey, look on the bright side, Pony."

"There's a bright side?"

He lights up a cigarette. "Least you didn't lose any teeth. I've lost a couple in fights and now I'm having problems."

I glance sideways, frowning. "Why don't you go to the dentist?"

"Too expensive. I'm saving up to buy a car with automatic transition so I can drive again and get some freedom back."

"And now I'm broke," I grumble.

* * *

Once at the dentist, I park the car.

"You want me to hold your hand through it?" Two-Bit quips.

I give him the finger.

* * *

Two-Bit is nowhere to be seen when I leave the dental clinic. I've just spent an hour in the dentist chair. My head aches, my face hurts and my teeth feel like metal. They hurt too. No one told me that getting braces was painful. Not that I know of anyone who's had them.

I step out into the light of the day, squinting and spy the tavern across the road.

"Typical," I mutter under my breath.

Crossing the road, I'm about to enter the tavern when I suddenly realize it's probably not a good idea I go in there. Last thing I want is to break the conditions of my release and end up back in jail. I hover in the doorway, looking for Two-Bit. I spy him at the counter.

"Two-Bit," I yell.

He glances my way. "Hey, Pony, come and have a beer," he calls back. "We'll celebrate your birthday."

"I can't. Not allowed."

Some birthday this is turning out to be.

Reaching for his walking stick, Two-Bit leaves the tavern. I see the frown on his forehead when he exits the tavern

"There are a lot of conditions attached to my release," I explain. "I can't even remember half of them."

"All right then, I'll buy a cartoon and we'll go back your place."

"I'm not allowed to drink."

I almost smile at the shocked look on his face. "You did say I should ease up," I point out.

"That doesn't mean quitting all together. Though maybe it's for the best you have a break from it for a while."

"Maybe you should too."

"Fuck that," he scowls. "So what do you wanna do? I need to get you something for your birthday."

"I don't want anything. I just want to go home."

He snorts. "Don't be such a misery guts."

"My teeth hurt."

"Well we gotta do something?"

I can see an idea taking hold by the expression on his face. "I know what I can get you." He begins walking down the street. I scowl after him. "Like what?"

"You'll see," he calls back over his shoulder.

* * *

Two-Bit brought me a board game, monopoly. _"Every household should have one. We can play it tonight for your birthday."_

It ends up being fun. Especially as I'm winning. Two-Bit drinks too much as usual and keeps making rash decisions which result in him going bankrupt. Steve is frugal, unable to make up his mind on what to buy and whether it's worth his precious dough. Darry is tactical and is second behind me. Soda just plays for fun. I let him off the hook when he lands of my property.

"Hey that's favoritism, Kid," Steve complains. "You can't do that."

Soda grins. "Yeah, he can." He puts an arm around my shoulder. "That's what kid brothers are for."

"Besides," I begin. "He's got no money."

* * *

It's midnight when we wrap it up.

Steve gives Two-Bit a lift home. I pack up the monopoly game with Soda's help. Darry's making hot chocolate.

"So, you had a good birthday?" Soda asks.

"Yeah, apart from this," I reply, pointing at the braces.

A wry smile crosses his mouth. "You sound funny when you talk."

"I know, guess I gotta get use to them and they hurt."

"Take a couple of pain killers," Darry suggests.

"I already have."

His eyes rest on my face. He places a hand on my shoulder. "You didn't have a drink tonight, Ponyboy. I'm proud of you."

Not from lack of wanting one though. It's tough going.

I nod. "I'm trying."

Darry smiles. "Good for you."

I might be 20 now, but hearing Darry praise me still leaves me feeling oddly pleased. I just want it to stay like this. I want things to remain normal. But they never do.

* * *

The nightmares return. I wake up in a cold sweat, my heart pounding in my chest. I'm gasping for air. _Just take deep breaths,_ I tell myself. _You have to get through this_. I take a couple of sleeping tables, get comfy on the couch and watch television. This continues for the next couple of nights, leaving me rattled and stressed out. Then there's a thunder storm. I have another flashback. The terror is too real, like I'm back there and it's happening all over again.

My brothers try to console me, but I can't be. The raw emotional fall out that rages through my body is my battle. They have no idea of the hell I'm in. No one can help me.

"I need fucking Valium!" I yell at Darry through clenched teeth. "I need something to knock me out."

I see the distraught look on Soda's face. Darry goes pale. He nods. "You're seeing the psychiatrist tomorrow. We'll get a script from him."

* * *

The next day I'm feeling frustrated and tense. I inspect my face in the mirror. The swelling has gone done, the bruises fading to yellow. It still ain't pretty. Last night comes to mind. I grip the edges of the hand basin. I can't do this. I need a drink. It's been five days. I'm so tempted. I could just drive now to the bottle shop and buy some bourbon. No one needs to know. I glare at my reflection. Maybe I will. And hate myself for it afterwards.

I stumble into the kitchen and find Darry's note.

 _Therapy is at four. I'll come home and pick you up, just hold out Ponyboy._

I screw up the piece of paper in my hand. I can hold out, I tell myself. I have to … for my brothers.

There's the punching bag out on the back porch. I can attempt to take out my frustrations on it. If I do it for long enough, it might just help.

* * *

I've been hitting the punching bag, for about ten minutes. I feel beads of sweat dot my forehead. I'm that engrossed in what I'm doing I don't hear anyone approach. It's not till my name is called out that I stop.

That's when I see her. I freeze on the spot. She has to be an hallucination. She can't be here. That can't be her standing at the bottom steps of my run down back porch. She's clutching the railing looking unsure. My heart just about stops.

"Cherry?" I murmur in disbelief.

She takes the couple of steps to the porch. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

This is real, and then with a sinking realization I gather why she is here.

"Don't tell me," I swallow. "It's your brother."

A pained look crosses her face. "Cousin."

I don't know what to say. It's been a year since I saw her last, and I can't think of one word. My eyes rake over her. She looks just as I remember, only her hair has grown. It brushes against her shoulders. I can see she's making a similar appraisal.

"You got my letter?" I say in a hoarse voice.

"I did." She looks so sad. "It made me cry."

My stomach twists into knots. "I-I'm … sorry."

She shakes her head. "So am I."

I swallow the lump in my throat. God, could this get anymore tortuous.

"I didn't want to believe it," she murmurs, taking the few steps that separate us. "But then, I hear about David and your name comes up." She takes a deep breath. "I thought there had to be some mistake."

A sudden wave of shame hits me square in the guts. I remove the gloves from my hands, tossing them on the ground.

"Why are you here?" The words sound kind of harsh, even in my own ears. I silently chide myself, but my emotions are all over the place.

"I had to see for myself," she calmly returns. "I wanted to believe that you were wrong, that you are still him."

Her words hurt.

"But maybe, you're not," she continues, her breath hitching in her throat. "Because I remember the boy who threw away the broken bottle top, telling me he could never use it … he could never hurt someone."

I close my eyes, and slowly shake my head. "I was just a boy," I sigh painfully.

"And the young man I knew at China beach, the one that held me so tenderly, stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful – is he gone too?"

"Don't …" I get out. The memories are too raw.

"Look at me Ponyboy." Even now I hear the determination in her voice.

I slowly raise my gaze to hers. She's only standing a foot from me. She's close enough for me to see the disappointment in her eyes. The hurt and confusion.

"The bruises on your face," she begins. "How did you get them?"

"I'm sure your cousin has told you all about it."

She blinks back tears, making me feel worse than I already do. "I haven't seen him."

For a moment I'm dumbfounded. She takes a deep breath. "I wanted to see you first."

I wrap my arms around myself, as if to put a barrier between us. "Why?"

Her eyes burn with a fierce intensity. "Because I need to know. I need to know what you've become. I need to hear the truth from your own lips." Her chest heaves and tears track down her cheeks.

I can't bear to look at them. Tearing my gaze from hers, I feel my throat close. When I speak, my voice is thick with emotion. "I was in a rumble, so was your cousin, the same one."

"Are you saying he did that to your face?"

"Yes."

Her face pales. She wants the truth, I'll give her the truth. "I was on the ground. He was kicking me and I grabbed his ankle," I take a deep fortifying breath. "I didn't mean to break it."

"He broke the same ankle six months ago, it probably had a weak spot."

It doesn't offer me any consolation. "Yeah well, fact is, he's now charging me with aggravated assault and I'm …" my voice cracks. I rake my hands through my hair. "Probably gonna go to jail."

My hands drop to my side. I stand there feeling defeated.

"I believe you," she says softly. "For what it's worth."

I give her a puzzled frown. "Why?"

Stepping closer, she captures my scarred hand with hers. "I was there." Her fingers lightly trace the scars on my hand. "I saw how broken you were. I know what it's like to be broken. We both were, Ponyboy. Caught up in the war from hell."

Her words captivate me. It's as if she can feel my pain, just like I feel hers. It's always been like that between us.

"You make so light of your injuries," she begins as she inspects my hand. "It looks bad."

Not as bad as the rest of my scars. I should extract my hand from hers. Not let her get so close … but I can't. Her simple touch is soothing.

"Still in once piece," I mutter. "Unlike Two-Bit." I hear the bitterness in my voice.

Her gaze meets mine. "Is that why you get into fights now?"

"I-I'm …" my words flounder. "I'm a mess." I try to suck up my wayward emotions. "Just walk away, Cherry."

She pins me with her hazel eyes. "I can't."

I feel her other hand slip into mine. She holds both of my hands in hers. We stand there for a quiet moment. I'm suddenly too aware of our close proximity. I fight the longing, knowing what her sweet caresses offer me. It's been so long.

"Why?" I murmur.

A slight frown dents her forehead. "You ask a lot of why's, Ponyboy." I see the apprehension in her eyes, as if she's contemplating her answer.

Raising a hand, she lightly caresses my cheek. "It's been so long since I last saw your face … and your eyes …" her words trail away.

What about my eyes? I'm filled with confusion.

She draws in a deep breath. "You saved me in many ways," she begins, her voice soft as the quiet morning air. "You have no idea."

I'm shaking like a leaf. I can barely handle this closeness and no, I don't have any idea. I assume it's what she mentioned in the letter.

Her hand drops to her side, her eyes still searching mine. I don't know what she is looking for, what she expects to see there?

She caresses my face again. I see the longing in her eyes. I feel the familiar desire. The want and the need for more. An errant strand of hair blows across her cheek. I tuck it back behind her ear. My thumb brushes against her bottom lip. I take a deep pained breath. She's still so beautiful. A sigh escapes her lips and leaning in towards me, her arms wound their way around me. Her cheek rests against my chest.

I can hear my heart beat pounding in my ears. What am I doing? I should pull away. This is … I can't do this … I can't. The sudden need outweighs any other rational thought. My arms wrap around her, pulling her closer towards me. I breathe in the scent of her hair, and I just hold her for a long silent moment, enjoying the feel of her body pressed against mine.

"You've filled out," she murmurs, approvingly. "You're not so painfully thin anymore."

She pulls back a little, our arms still wrapped around each other. She raises her eyes to mine. I take in every detail of her pretty face, brushing a hand through her hair.

"It's grown." My voice sounds husky in my own ears.

A slight smile crosses her face. "So has yours."

My eyes drop to her lips. I fight the longing to kiss her and fail. Before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, I lower my mouth to hers. The kiss is gentle and tender at first. She kisses me back with such need and urgency. Her arms curl around my neck, her fingers tangling themselves in my hair. It's been so long, too long. I should stop this. I don't even know what this is, but I can't. Making a low hungry moan in my chest, I deepen the kiss. The braces get in the way, bringing me back to earth with a jolt. I mutter under my breath. Amusement dances in her eyes. Color suffuses my cheeks.

"Several of my teeth were knocked loose in the rumble," I mutter self-consciously.

"That my cousin did," she states, the amusement is replaced with concern. "He would have lied because he's scared of what his father would do. I know it doesn't excuse it."

A steely resolve crosses her face. A look of determination. "I'm going to see him. I'm going to fix this."

I've seen that look before. I don't doubt her.

"Why?" I ask again.

Her gaze is direct and knowing. "You think you're not worth it, Ponyboy?"

I don't say anything, because I'm not. She shakes her head. I can tell she already knows I don't think I am.

"When you're ready," she sighs, her fingers brushing the hair out of my eyes. "When you get better. Come and see me. You know where I live." She breathes in. "I'll tell you why?"

She's the most perplexing person I've ever met. Her hands lightly and soothingly touch both sides of my face.

"You are worth it," she says with a fierce longing. "You haven't lost as much as you think you have. And maybe we'll never be totally whole again like we used to be, but I still see you, Ponyboy. You are still there."

My heart thumps painfully in my chest. I want so desperately to believe her. But I'm not sure of anything anymore.

She steps back. My arms fall to my side. We both stare at each for a long tortuous moment. So many questions are buzzing in my head. But I can't ask. I can't go there. I'm not in a good place. I don't think she is either. I see the dark circles under her eyes. She looks as tired as I feel. We're just two damaged people, taking some comfort in each other. That's all this ever was. I ignore the part of myself that longs for more.

"I'm going to repay you," she murmurs in a warm voice. "Now it's my turn to save you."

Giving my cheek one last tender caress, I don't miss the wistful longing in her eyes. Then she slowly, reluctantly turns and walks away.

I watch her leave, my heart beating erratically in my chest. For a moment I want to call out to her. Ask her to stay. Ask her to hold me for just a little longer. But I don't.

Slowly, I slump to the ground, feeling exhausted, like I've just run a marathon. My emotions always leave me feeling debilitated. A sadness I can't define overcomes me. Her words echo in my ears. _You are worth it._ I don't believe it. _I still see you, Ponyboy. You are still there._

Pulling the packet of cigarettes out of my pocket, I light one up.

She's wrong.

I don't know me anymore. I don't see me. I only see what I've become.

.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! Love to know what you all thought of this chapter. I had to add some slight relief and humour. It can't always be doom and gloom! Let me know what you liked most about the chapter and/or what you would like yet to see happen.

Feedback is always VERY welcomed and loved and makes my day :)))

Cheers

Carolynne


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, sometimes the writing just doesn't flow like I want it too! I find it always gets hard to write when I start to get near the end of a story. Plus, I visited my sister in Melbourne and had a lovely week catching up with family.

That said. Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 27.**_

* * *

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Therapy, been there and done that before. I'm not sure how it's supposed to help. I don't really want to talk about my experience in Vietnam, that's a nightmare I want to forget; only I can't. It's with me every night when I sleep. The news is full of the war as are the papers. The only thing I read in the paper now are the weather reports and that's to see if there is going to be a storm. Because I know what that'll trigger and it's something I dread. I'll do anything to avoid a flashback. Thunderstorms are not the only trigger, so are helicopters. I'm almost too afraid to step a foot from the house on my own, just in case. At least with a storm I'll have some warning, but I never know if a helicopter will suddenly fly over. It's debilitating.

"I can't keep living like this," I tell the shrink.

It's a woman this time. Her name is Tracey. She's young, maybe only a couple of years older than me. Fresh out of College and full of supposedly new information. She's okay, but I always find shrinks odd. They look at you as if you're a specimen worth studying. This is my second session with her, and there's really only one thing I want to know. "Will it get better?"

The answer is always the same. "With time."

Yeah, but how much time? It's been six months.

"You've been taking the antidepressants?" she asks.

"Yes," I murmur begrudgingly.

She gave me a script a week ago and advised it would be more beneficial than taking Valium. It's supposed to help me sleep and help with my so called depression. I had argued about that until she asked me a whole lot of questions. _Do I feel guilty? Am I often irritable and frustrated? Do I lack confidence? Am I frequently miserable and sad? Do I think I'm worthless? Do I withdraw from family and friends? Am I dependent on alcohol and/or sedatives? Do I have difficulty concentrating?_ I had to resentfully answer _yes._ Hell, maybe I am depressed. I remember having something similar after Johnny and Dallas had died. But we don't talk about them. She just wants to talk about the war, and how I'm coping with my return from it. I can never answer. What war does, it tears you apart, tears your soul in half and then … you're left with nothing.

"Is it helping?" she prompts.

"It's not really doing anything," I return.

"It can take a few weeks to feel the effects."

I squirm uncomfortably on the chair under her studious gaze. Her hands are folded neatly on the desk.

"Any side effects?"

"I have a dry mouth in the mornings."

It's annoying. I end up drinking a ton of water to alleviate it.

"No suicidal thoughts?"

I shake my head.

"That's good. It can be a side effect in young people, so if you do suddenly develop them you must let me know immediately."

"Why prescript a drug that can do that?" I find myself asking.

"Because drinking alcohol isn't a solution."

It works though. In its own way, numbing everything.

"How is that going?"

"I haven't had a drink in ten days."

It's been hard. The amount of times I'd come so close to jumping in the car and driving to the bottle shop. Every day I fight the internal battle, but then I think of my brothers. I think of how it'll hurt them.

I glance up to find her watching me, waiting for me to say more. My eyes rest on the clock upon the wall, willing the minutes to tick by faster so I can get out of here.

"You know why you drink?" she begins.

"To forget," I sigh, clenching my jaw. "To sleep, so I don't have nightmares."

"Sometimes running from your demons isn't always the answer."

I almost let out a bitter laugh. How would she know? She ain't seen what I've seen, or done what I've done, because if she had, she'd been running too. She'd be doing anything she could to forget it.

"What do you suggest I do," I return unable to mask the bitterness in my voice.

She doesn't blink. Her calm steady gaze continues to watch me, continues to contemplate.

"Find a happy place, a place that gives you comfort. Memories can be powerful."

A happy place – is she fucking serious?!

"You can use them to settle yourself after having a nightmare," she continues. "There must have been a moment during your time in Vietnam that wasn't so bad?"

My thoughts fly to Cherry. Since seeing her five days ago, I haven't been able to stop thinking about her. Part of me wishes she had never come to see me, but another part of me wants to hold onto that moment in time. Relive it, over and over again. Should I see her? I want to, and then I chide myself, don't be stupid. Forget it. Forget her, but I can't. Then I think, maybe she does want to see me again?

She did imply it, _when you get better … come and see me. You know where I live._

Her words have a way of replaying over and over in my head. _'You are worth it. You haven't lost as much as you think you have. And maybe we'll never be totally whole again like we used to be, but I still see you, Ponyboy. You are still there.'_ I want to believe the convictions of her words.

"It's called coping strategies, Ponyboy," Tracy speaks, breaking me out of the memories and back to present day reality.

Maybe she's right.

I nod. "Okay." Sometimes it's just easier to agree.

Again, I feel her waiting for me to say more. But I find that hard to do. Spill my guts, see the brokenness of that and try to piece it all back together again. It's easier just to crawl up in a hole.

"The anger," I begin, taking a deep breath. "It's like it's not there anymore. Now – now I'm …" my voice trails away.

"Sad," she finishes for me.

I nod. "Yeah."

"It's the next stage of grief."

So, not only am I depressed, suffering nightmares and crippling flashbacks that keep me housebound, but also grief. Terrific. Its official, my life is one big mess.

"You are grieving, Ponyboy," she quietly points out. "For the friends you saw die, for everything you lost and maybe, most likely, even yourself."

This is why I hate therapy, the frank honesty of it. It forces me to look inside of myself. I'm never gonna like what I see there.

I'm always glad when the session is over.

* * *

Soda is outside waiting for me, leaning against the car and chatting to some girl. As always, the girls flock to him. But strangely enough, I've not seen him go out with any girls since I've been home. Or maybe he has, and I've failed to notice because I've been too caught up in my own misery.

Soda glances my way as I approach, a happy smile on his face. This is another reason why I remind myself not to drink, Soda is starting to get back some of his cheerfulness. Darry looks less stressed. I owe my brothers. Without them I don't think I'd made it through this far. Two-Bit was right when he'd told me not to shut them out. ' _When we get out of this hell hole you're gonna need them, maybe they'll be the only thing to make you whole again.'_ He's astute like that. Though I don't think I'll ever be 'whole' again. I can't see that far into my future. I'm only living in the moment, just getting through the day, being chaperoned everywhere I go.

I don't mind. I'm actually relieved. What if I were to have a flashback on my own in the middle of the street with strangers around me? But at some point I'm gonna have to feel confident enough to go out of my own. I'll need a job. I'll need money to pay off the stupid braces. Right now I'm a prisoner in my own home.

Today, it's Soda's turn to play chaperone. Two-Bit does it the most. He starts real early in his job and finishes around two in the afternoon. _"I can thank the fucking Army for something. I'm used to getting up at the crack of dawn."_ He comes over just about every day. Drags me out of the house. _"You need to get some sun, kid."_ Yesterday he dragged me to the hair salon. _"Gotta do it some time."_

Two-Bit was in his element, regaling the barber with all sorts of highly exaggerated tales from Vietnam. At least I didn't have to say anything. It let me off the hook. Maybe Tracey was right about not running from my demons. Two-Bit doesn't. He just grapples them and then changes them to his way of liking. I wish I had the same courage. I don't mean the sort of courage where you can run out with the gooks firing at you and hoping to hell you don't die, that I can do. I mean the sort of courage in living life. Being part of it. Feeling real again. Not wanting to shut myself away from the world.

"Hey, Pony," Soda says, "How'd it go?"

I shrug. "All right."

The girl he's chatting to shoots a curious look my way. She's pretty in the girly kind of way, which does nothing for me. It's all so shallow. _Except Cherry_. I quickly stop my thoughts from going there.

"This is Lucy. And this …" Soda puts an arm around me. "Is my brother Ponyboy."

An amused smile crosses her face. "You both have such unusual names."

"Yeah, that's us," Soda grins. "We're unusual."

I force a smile to my lips. Play the part, for Soda's sake.

Her smile widens. "Both so cute too."

I doubt it. If she were to see the extent of my scars, she wouldn't be finding me so cute. I almost choke on that word. I have a crazy sudden impulse to rip open my shirt and show her my scars. _'Still find this cute?'_

Instead, I squirm uncomfortably, wanting to get away. Soda must notice the way my body stiffens.

"Hey, nice meeting you Lucy, but we gotta go," he begins. "See ya around sometime."

I see the sudden crestfallen look on her face before she smiles brightly. "I hope so." Pulling a piece of paper out of her bag, she scribbles something on it. "That's my number in case you want to call," she shrugs casually. "And maybe go out sometime."

Soda takes the scrap of paper from her. "Sure," he says.

* * *

Soda shoots a look my way once in the car. The sort of worried look that I'm now used to. "You sure were keen to get out of there."

I distract myself with pulling a cigarette out of the packet.

"You didn't find her attractive?" he continues.

I light the smoke. "I guess, but …" Hell I can't even begin to explain it to Soda. He just wouldn't understand. "Not my type."

I take a deep drag. "But you seemed keen on her," I continue. That then gets me thinking. "You gonna ask her out?"

He ain't getting any younger. I suddenly realize that Soda would be 22 going on 23. The thought sort of momentarily shocks me. Where did the time go? Mom and dad were married at 21, and here is Darry and Soda still single. Sure, Darry has a girlfriend, he has Sue, but that was kinda going nowhere either.

Soda grips the steering wheel. "I don't know," he says. "You think I should?"

Why should it matter what I think. It's not up to me. With a sinking feeling I realize just how much I've not only put my life on hold but my brothers too.

I gaze out of the window, clenching my jaw. "Yeah," I return. "I think you should."

"What about you, Pony. When you gonna start thinking about girls again?"

When hell freezes over, I mutedly tell myself. "I dunno, hardly in any fit place to be doing that yet."

There's a moment silence.

"Hey, but I'm the youngest here y'all know."

Soda gives me a warm smile. "Guess you are."

I glance at him. "So why haven't you found anyone yet?"

He takes so long to answer that I begin to worry. What am I doing? What have I done to my brothers? Are we all fucking doomed when it comes to having a relationship with a woman?

"I dunno," Soda sighs. "Just ain't found the right girl yet."

Out of all of us, I would have thought that Soda would be the first to get married.

"I know I get girls throwing themselves at me all the time," he begins, "but I just want one who'll see me, you know, really see me," he mumbles. "You get it."

I slowly nod. "Yeah." More than you could ever know. I guess we're not that different after all. But still I want him to be happy, I want him to have what mom and dad had. He deserves it. So does Darry.

My heart does a heavy lurch in my chest. I find myself briefly thinking how different everything would have been if mom and dad hadn't died in that car accident. My life, our life is filled with so much loss. My brothers … they are really all that I have. Our broken family, parent-less, just me and my brothers trying to make the best of everything. Two-Bit and Steve, like brothers too. We band together. It's been a tough ride. Trying to make something out of nothing. Just a bunch of young guys without any good older role model, because it's all been loss to us. Trying to find solid ground. Trying and putting all the pressure of responsibility onto Darry's shoulder's because he was the oldest, and we were all just so … desperately needy.

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell Soda about Cherry. I haven't told anyone about her visit. I just don't want to get their hopes up in case Cherry doesn't talk her cousin into dropping the charges. I don't know how she will do that. He out right lied to the police to protect his own ass. We could have just both got hauled in and maybe get slapped with a fine for disturbing the peace. I know Cherry said he would have lied because he was scared of his dad, but I've felt the force of those punches and what they can do. He's not gonna be sorry. I try not to think about it, because I don't wanna get my hopes up either.

* * *

The days slowly roll by. Too slow. The only constructive thing I can do now is cook and clean the house. The house has never been cleaner. It sparkles, because I ain't got nothing better to do with my time. As for the cooking, I'm getting pretty good at it. I brought a cook book and try to do different recipes, not experimental stuff that Soda does. You never know what you're gonna get with him. I think Darry's happy that I'm the designated cook. It at least gives me something to focus on.

Tonight I've decided I'm gonna cook lamb ragout. I scribble down the food I need to buy on a bit of paper and glance up at the clock. Two-Bit is an hour late. Maybe he had to work back?

I pace the kitchen, looking for something to clean, finding nothing.

To hell with it. I'll go to the shops alone. I'm gonna have to do it eventually. I can't keep living like this.

Grabbing the keys, I head outside and glance up the sky. There's not a cloud in sight and no helicopters that I can hear of. I walk down the cracked pavement to the driveway.

You can do this, I tell myself. Can't keep getting chaperoned everywhere. I'm becoming too dependent on my brothers and Two-Bit. It's getting worse. Too many what ifs of all the things that could go wrong keep replaying over and over in my head.

A horn beeps noisily, startling me. My head shoots up and a car pulls up in the driveway.

"Hey, Pony," Two-Bit yells. "I brought a car."

I've not seen him this excited in a long while. His biggest frustration about having only one leg now is his loss of independence in getting around.

I take in the car as he opens the driver's door. It's a red, two door convertible Ford Mustang.

"What do ya think?" he asks.

"It's cool," I reply. "How much did it set you back?"

"I had to get a loan, but I managed to swindle a good deal out of the salesman, you know me," he grins. "C'mon get in, we'll go for a ride."

I get in the car. I haven't seen such a nice interior before. Most of us drive old souped up bombs, because it's all we can afford.

"It's a cruise-o-matic with a three-speed auto transmission." He starts the engine. "Which means I can easily drive it."

He grins widely, I can't help grinning back. Two-Bit finally has his independence. Good for him. It offers me some faint reassurance that things are slowly getting better for him.

"Let's go see Steve and Soda," he continues. "I wanna show it off."

"All right."

I'm just glad to be out of the house. Two-Bit glances my way as he reverses out of the driveway.

"You about to go out alone?" he asks.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Gotta do it, getting sick of being stuck in the house." Although I'm really relieved he showed up when he did. I don't say that out loud. It's kinda ironic. I might have both my legs, but I don't have any independence due to my stupid fears. And who the hell knows how long that'll last.

"After we see Steve and Soda, I need to stop by the grocery store to get some food for tonight."

"What'cha cooking?"

"Lamb Ragout."

"What the fuck is that?"

"Just a recipe I'm trying."

Two-Bit quirks an eyebrow. "Ya thinking of becoming a chef now?"

I snort. "Got nothing else to do."

* * *

As usual, everyone invites themselves over for dinner. In everyone I mean only Steve and Two-Bit. Which was nothing unusual. I take photos of Two-Bit's new car with all the guys in it. Soda somehow convinces me to be in a photo.

"Give a big smile so we can get to see ya braces, kid," Steve yells out from the front porch. He still likes to tease me about it. I never hear the end of it. I gotta put up with this for another whole year. But I don't mind the ragging, used to it. I like the comradeship, the connecting with close friends, it keeps me sober, keeps me grounded. Without it I would be lost. It's the familiarity of it all that's comforting. Even Steve, who I've grown to like. They all have my back.

After Two-Bit and Steve have left, Darry glances at me. "You ready for tomorrow?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I mutter.

Worry flickers across his face. Tomorrow is the big day, my day in court. "I'll just be glad when it's over," I continue.

His hand rests on my shoulder. "Whatever happens, we'll always be there for you Ponyboy. I'm proud of you for trying so hard."

He gives my shoulder a squeeze. Warmth radiates through my chest. Darry's proud of me and that counts for a lot.

"I know."

He ruffles my hair. "Don't stay up too late," he instructs.

"Too tired for that."

* * *

I don't feel as worried as I thought I would, maybe it's those damn pills that are helping with it. They certainly help me fall asleep. I crash on my bed, pulling the covers up. I hear the rain patter against the window pane. A car horn toots from the neighbor's house. A dog barks nearby. My eyelids drift shut. The pipes groan as Soda turns off the shower. A door softly closes.

 _I'm walking up a hill._

A gust of wind rips through my hair. The smell of napalm burns my nostrils. All the vegetation is blackened. This place smells of death. It's all around me.

I reach the top of the hill and stare down at the valley before me. There are so many bodies piled on top of each other. It spreads as far as I can see. My breath is short and my heart beat rapid. _I did this._

I feel a hand on the small of my back. A familiar voice speaks. "Wow, Ponyboy," Johnny says. "You really outdid yourself this time."

A cold chill creeps up my spine. I'm too afraid to look at him. I know what I'll see. But I turn my head all the same as if I'm powerless to stop it. His face is deathly pale. Vacant, hollow eyes stare back at me. Half of his body is smoldering. I see the skin pealing from his neck. Bile rises in my throat. I'm trembling uncontrollably. _"Y-You're not him."_

My voice sounds distorted in my own ears. The bodies slowly rise from the ground and start walking towards us. I'm dreaming. This isn't real. Johnny raises a rifle and starts firing at them.

" _Stop!"_ I yell which ends in an anguished sob. _"You're not a killer!"_

But it ain't Johnny firing anymore. It's me. I see the look of hate on my own face. I can't breathe … I have to … breathe. I have to wake up.

My body jolts. I find myself sitting on my bed in a pitch black room. My breathing is ragged, my heart pounding in my chest.

Somethings wrong. What happened to the light? Slowly pushing my bed covers aside, I stand up, squinting into the darkness. I can't see anything. All I can hear is an incessant drip – drip - drip. I feel the dread. My feet compel me forward, down the hall of my house and to the bathroom. The dripping grows louder as does my fear. It's real and palpable. Pushing the bathroom door open, my eyes stray to the bathtub.

I see him. The boy. He's dead in my bathtub. Sightless eyes gazing into nothing. One arm is eschewed over the side, blood running down it, dripping on to the bathroom floor.

I stumble backwards. _"No!"_ I try to yell, my voice soundless. I clutch at my throat.

 _Those empty eyes lock onto mine. I'm falling into a deep, dark pit, clutching desperately at the sides._

I try to untangle myself from the blankets, landing with a loud thump on to the bedroom floor.

The door bursts open. "Ponyboy!" I hear Soda exclaim.

My cheeks are wet and my body is bathed in a cold sweat. The bed sheets are twisted around my legs. My heart is pounding in my chest.

The warm glow from my bedside table, which I always leave on, offers me some relief. As does Soda's worried face. He's by my side in an instant, helping me to my feet. My whole body is trembling. I feel incredibly weak. Soda has seen me in this state many times. I don't feel the shame I once used too. But the dream is still so vivid in my mind.

"I-I just w-want it to stop," I stammer.

Soda sits heavily on the bed next to me. He doesn't say anything. He already knows there are no reassurances he can give me. But I see his face is filled with sympathy and pain.

"You want me to stay?"

I shake my head, taking a deep breath. "Nah, it's okay. You need to sleep."

"So do you. Big court date tomorrow." He looks at his watch. "Make that today."

His worried gaze rests on me. "You gonna be okay?"

I nod, but I can tell he doesn't believe me.

"I'll just read for a bit, the worst of it will blow over soon enough."

"Okay," he sighs, getting to his feet. I see the reluctance in his eyes, the concern. "Just holler if you need me."

"Okay."

He ruffles my hair, his hand feels warm. The gesture is comforting. Then he turns and goes to leave.

"Soda," I call after him.

Stopping in the doorway, he looks back at me. I feel pathetic with what I'm about to ask, like I'm six years old all over again.

"Can you leave the light on in the bathroom?"

His face pales slightly, but he doesn't ask why. He just nods, closing my bedroom door. I lay back on my bed exhausted. The antidepressants I've been taking are starting to work in as much as they make me tired. But they don't stop the nightmares. Unfortunately. Normally I'd be so wired up after a nightmare that I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep till I saw the first rays of light touch the sky. However, my body demands sleep, only I'm too scared to close my eyes. So I fight it. Every time my eyes drift shut, the image of the boy dead in the bathtub flashes before me.

The shrink's words, 'm _emories can be powerful, use them when you need to deal with your nightmares'_ filters through my consciousness _._

I try. I try to picture that day on the beach with Cherry. But all I see are piles of bodies. Then I cast my mind to the first night we made love.

 _She slips her hand in mine and lightly squeezes my fingers. "I know one way we can forget," she murmurs._

 _Her hand feels warm holding mine as she leads me back to her hut. She's my source of comfort and the only person who understands my pain. I'm in need. I need a distraction to keep the horror of my memories at bay. Her fingers lightly brush against my skin, making it tingle as she plants kisses down the side of my neck. Then her mouth seeks mine in a kiss that speaks of a yearning for something lost._

" _I think we can help each other," she softly murmurs._

 _We lie in each other's arms, legs entangled on the bed, breathing heavily. I bury my face in her wild mane of short curls. Her hair smells of apples, it tickles my nose. For a while I feel content._

 _She snuggles up to me, resting her head on my shoulder, not speaking, rubbing her hand lightly against my chest. "It's good, Ponyboy," she murmurs._

 _We just hold one another and eventually fall asleep in each other's arms._

* * *

Someone is shaking me. "C'mon, Ponyboy, wake up." It's Darry. "We got to be at court in an hour."

Reality comes crashing in. I roll over. "What time is it?"

"Ten o'clock."

"So early," I moan.

"For some," Darry mutters dryly.

I'm seldom out of bed before midday. It's the damn drugs, they make me so tired and lethargic.

Pushing the bed covers aside, I drag myself out of bed.

"Breakfast is going cold," Darry calls out from the kitchen.

I stumble down the hallway, stopping when I reach the bathroom. The nightmare from last night comes to mind. Normally I'd feel a lot more shaken up than I do, but the memories of Cherry have a calming effect. The first useful advice a shrink's given me that actually works.

* * *

Darry and I say very little on the drive to the court house. I'm wearing the best clothes I own, which I already had from working at the bank. I doubt I've looked so neat since being home. It doesn't ease my nerves.

Today determines my future. It's unlikely I'll serve jail time if I am found guilty, the defense attorney is pretty positive about that. I'll probably have to do a plea bargain, maybe get 12 months' probation and have to do community service. He has some witnesses. Curly Shepherd had called by my house one day, freaking me out, to say he and the other guys involved will be witnesses if needed. But I'm sure David Valance will have his so called witnesses too. Still, I've done everything right, met the conditions of my release. I haven't drunk any alcohol in twenty days. I haven't stepped foot in a tavern. Hell, I've barely left the house.

I just want this day to be over so I can move on from it. Whatever the outcome is. To do what yet? I have no idea. I know if I'm found guilty and have a criminal record, my job prospects won't be too good. I stop my mind from going there.

* * *

The court case was over pretty quick. The Prosecutor announced that the victim, David Valance, had advised him that he doesn't wish to testify against the defendant, me. He really has no option but to drop the case. The judge declares the case dismissed.

And just like that it's all over. It's that simple and that easy.

The defense attorney shakes my hand. "It's your lucky day Ponyboy Curtis. You're free to go."

I stand there stunned. She did it. Cherry had convinced her cousin to drop the charges. I don't know how, but I'm internally grateful. Without her, I would have been screwed.

I'm still in a numb state of shock when Darry and Soda hug me in relief. Two-Bit and Steve, who were there for moral support, are full on with the enthusiasm. Two-Bit is all for celebrating at the tavern.

Darry suggests the dairy queen. _It's a bit too early for beer._ I'm in agreement with Darry because I'm starving. I couldn't eat breakfast this morning, what with the nerves and all.

"How about that," Two-Bit says happily as we leave the court room. "Why did he change his mind?"

"I don't care," Soda pipes up. "Fact is he did and it's all over."

But I know why. Cherry. I guess I should tell them, but not yet. As I descend the steps at the front of the court house, I hear her call my name. I stop, turn and see her standing just a few feet away. As always, a whole host of emotions course through me, emotions I can't even begin to understand. My heart rate speeds up at the sight of her.

"Cherry," I murmur.

She looks as unsure as I feel.

"I didn't want to go inside, just in case you know. I didn't want to make you nervous."

I slowly approach her, drinking in the sight of her once more. The way her hair brushes against her shoulders, the slight dusting of pink in her cheeks.

"What you did," I begin, feeling a whole world of gratitude. "Thank you."

"I owed you one."

"No, you've already given me …" I think of the way I used the memories with her to deal with the nightmares. "More than you realize."

A warm smile crosses her face. I want so badly to hold her, but I just stand there unsure on what to do. It doesn't help having my brothers, Two-Bit and Steve witness this exchange, even if they are out of earshot, waiting by the car. I can feel them watching us. I'm so never gonna hear the end of this when they get me alone.

"You look good," she says. "Handsome all dressed up like that."

I don't know about that, but I guess I do compared to all the other times she's seen me looking worse for wear.

"So do you, but then you always do."

A strand of hair brushes against her mouth, I refrain from brushing it back.

"How did you get him to drop the charges?" I ask.

I see the slight hesitation in her eyes, which puzzles me. "I gave him a few home truths." She breathes in. "It doesn't matter how, all that matters is your free."

"Well whatever it was, you must have been real convincing."

She takes hold of my hand. I catch a waft of her perfume. "I meant what I said last time. When you're ready, come and see me. Please."

It's the please that gets to me. She looks so sincere. I have no idea on why she would want to see me, or what it is she feels. My own feelings are in conflict, this yearning towards her.

I swallow and nod. "Okay."

A look of sweet relief crosses her face. "Are you getting better?"

"I'm trying and you?"

"Me too."

A wistful look crosses her face as she glances past me to my brothers. "You're lucky to have them."

"I know," I murmur. "Don't think I can ever forgive myself for the six months of hell I put them through."

She gives my hand a squeeze. "Not your fault," she breathes. "I'm sure they understand. They love you."

"Yeah, I know …" I begin, raising a hand and touching the smoothness of her cheek.

Don't go there. Don't think about it – her. But I see the loneliness in her eyes, and I want to ask why, what put it there. This need. I need her. I think she needs me too.

Her eyes are full of longing and questions. Questions I don't get. Her fingers lightly touch my lips, and I no longer care who is around to see. Her thumb brushes against my bottom lip.

"Take care, Ponyboy," she murmurs. "Get better. I know you will. You're stronger than you think."

She leans in towards me and lightly presses her lips to mine.

With that, she steps back and walks away.

I watch her leave, unable to make my feet move, fighting the desire to call her back. Why is it always so tortuous when I see her? In Vietnam it was simple, back then I never knew which day would be my last and made the most of my short time with her. But here, at home, I don't even know if I could handle any kind of relationship right now. We don't even have a normal relationship, not one of the conventional kind.

* * *

I walk towards the gang, our own band of brothers, sticking together through the worst of it. Cherry is right. I am lucky.

"So that was Cherry Valance," Steve whistles. Trust him to be the first to speak up. "She's still good looking. What she want with a greaser like you?"

I shrug. "David Valance is her cousin," I begin, hesitatingly. "She came and saw me a couple of weeks ago."

Darry takes in a sharp breath. "You never told us."

"I didn't want to get your hopes up. She told me she would try and get him to drop the charges. Hell, I didn't even wanna risk getting my own hopes up."

"You are a dark horse at times, Pony," Two-Bit adds. I see the speculation in his eyes. He's probably wondering why I didn't tell him either, considering I tell him most everything.

* * *

Later, when Steve and Two-Bit have gone back to work, along with Darry. Soda and I still sit in the booth, me sipping on a chocolate thick shake. I can feel him watching me.

"You love her," he simply says. "I can see it."

I almost choke on the word. Love. No. I don't even know what that is.

"She loves you too, I think. I kinda saw it in her eyes."

I vehemently shake my head. "No … it's just a comfort thing. What we had."

"Keep telling yourself that, Pony. But you're only lying to yourself. I know what I saw."

He tilts his head to the side, a wry smile crossing his face. "I should have known. That's just so typically you, Pony. Finding the one girl and her being the only one."

* * *

The weeks go by. I continue with the therapy sessions. Tracy's good at it. It's helping a bit. And it keeps Darry happy. I still get nightmares, but I'm coping with them better. I've even managed to stay off the alcohol. I find myself wanting it less and less. I still have bad days. I'm still afraid of the flashbacks, those I can't control. I'm afraid to go out on my own. I think about getting a job. I've even thought about College, but I just don't know what I want to do.

I haven't seen Cherry, but we write to each other. As time goes by, my letters get longer and so do hers. One of these days maybe I'll summon up the nerve to see her.

* * *

The days grow shorter and colder. Darry's 26th birthday arrives. Two-Bit drives me into town after he finishes work.

"What are we gonna get him?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's Darry. He's never easy to buy for." I've been racking my brains for days. When I ask him, he always gives the same answer; socks and/or jocks. But I want to get him something special, something with meaning. I just don't know what.

"Pull over here. I gotta get some money out of the bank."

Two-Bit parks the car. Two young women walk past, giving the car an appreciative look. Two-Bit watches them, a smile on his face as they enter a clothes shop.

"I'll meet ya back here, just gotta go look for a present for the old girl."

I roll my eyes. I know her birthday isn't for months, but any excuse for Two-Bit to chat up a girl. I wish him luck and walk across the street to the bank.

* * *

I almost collide with David Valance soon as I step out of the bank. We both stop in our tracks and stare at each other. He gives me the once over, as I do to him. I don't see any family resemblance to Cherry. I can feel the awkwardness of the moment, wishing I was anywhere but here.

"Thanks for dropping the charges," I mutter, not really meaning it, but it's the only thing I can think to say. Truth is, the guy is a dick.

"I did it for Cherry," he returns.

Of course he did, though I still don't know why? She really must have been damn convincing, because I can tell by the expression on his face that he really doesn't like me. The feeling is mutual.

"You should take more responsibility," he states in a way that puzzles me.

As if he can talk. "So should you," I return, scowling.

"Yeah, maybe, but I'm not a father."

My frown deepens. What the fuck is he talking about?

He lets out a slow hiss. "You don't know," he begins with a shake of his head. "She never told you about the baby?"

Suddenly it feels as if all the air has been sucked out of me. He's delusional. He has to be.

He runs a hand up the back of his neck. "I don't know her reasons for not telling you, but it's out now," he mutters, giving me a disdainful look. "Congratulations Curtis, you have a daughter."

I stand there rooted to the spot, unable to move let alone think. There has to be a mistake. I can't be a father. She would have told me!

"She has to be lying," I get out in a hoarse voice, "maybe she said that so you'd drop the charges."

He looks as me as if I'm crazy.

"I've seen the baby, cute little thing, pity it has such a greaser loser for a father."

My ears are buzzing. Not true. It can't be true.

"She only told me to protect you, to convince me to drop the charges."

I swallow the lump in my throat. My mouth goes dry. It can't be true. It can't be … _when you're ready. When you get better. Come and see me. You know where I live. I'll tell you everything_.

Oh god.

"It's your kid all right," David continues in a scathing tone of voice. "She has your eyes."

I'm filled with the memory of Cherry caressing my cheek. Her words, _'_ _it's been so long since I last saw your face … and your eyes,'_ haunt me. Now that I think about it, there were so many little clues I failed to pick up on.

With a sick feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, I come to the realization that it has to be true. I screw my eyes shut. I just can't get my head around it. This can't be happening.

Why didn't she tell me? Because, let's face it, you're a basket case now. I take a deep shaky breath, open my eyes, only to find David Valance gone. I see his retreating back as he walks down the street.

 _Wait,_ I want to call out, _what is her name?_ She has to have a name … and fuck … I have a daughter.

At just like that, my whole world feels like it's spinning out of control; yet again.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Cliffie! Sort of :) Please leave a review and let me know what you all think. I would like to thank Blondness for the tip on how the court case would go if the victim didn't testify. I know that scene is brief. I just didn't know how to drag it out in more detail. The whole purpose of Pony being arrested was like a wake up call for him. A means for him to try and get better in himself. I hope that came across. This part of the story is all about him finding his way back, with a very big shock at the end!

Thanks for reading.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait on this update! I just want to thank those people who have left me some amazing reviews! Thank you so much! You can't even begin to imagine how much they make my day.

Here is the next chapter! Enjoy!

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* * *

 **Chapter 28.**

* * *

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When I see the two girls enter the clothing shop, I gotta take my chance when it happens, because it doesn't happen that often these days. In fact, it never happens.

I can't remember the last time I got laid. Hell, I'm not even sure if I'm looking for that anymore. It'll come with a certain degree of awkwardness. If it ever got that far. Maybe it'll freak a girl out, seeing just one leg and a stump where the other used to be. It's that thought that bothers me more than I'll ever let on. But I never do. I just keep that easy going smile on my face, and everything's right in the world.

The two girls I follow into the dress shop shoot curious glances my way when I enter the store. It's the walking stick. It's always a dead giveaway. I look forward to the day I no longer need it. Walking is slowly getting easier, but there are times I miss having two legs. The convenience of it. Being able to run to a place when you're running late. Now, if I'm running late, I'm gonna fucking be real late. I always have to leave the house earlier than intended. All the things I took for granted just don't come easy anymore. But I adjust. I've had too.

I'm just glad to have some independence back. I missed that the most. I missed the freedom to get in a car and go anywhere. I can now. I can drive again. I've not felt such exhilaration in ages. I almost feel young again, like I used too, but without the reckless abandonment I had then.

" _You know we can take my car from time to time," Pony has suggested._

" _Can't do Kid. Can't lower myself to get in ya heap of junk," I lightly joke in return._

 _He rolls his eyes and snort. "At this rate it's never gonna leave the driveway."_

I know what he's referring to. His inability to leave the house. Pony has become a prisoner in his own home. He never leaves it unless someone is with him. I don't blame him. I've seen his flashbacks. I know what hell he went through. I was there.

I often see the frustration in his eyes. I don't know how to help him, other than to drag him out of the house as much I can. I don't mind. I like being with him. Hell we'd lived in each other's space for months on end in Vietnam. You kinda get very used to that, doing everything with the one person. It took me ages to adjust not being be his side all of the time.

" _Not only that, but I get to park in the handicap bay," I lightly point out to him._

But I never do. It don't feel right parking there. I'm not an invalid. Besides walking is good for me and there's precious little I can do in the way of exercise.

" _You should come to the gym with me and Darry."_

 _I raise an eyebrow. "You going to the gym now?"_

" _Yeah, I run on the treadmill. Not the same as outside, but at least I get to run …" then his voice breaks off there and a contrite look crosses his face. "You can't run." He looks pissed with himself._

" _I've never liked running anyway," I'd mutter. Which is true. But I'd never tell him how much I missed it. I might have hated running when I had the ability to do it, but when you no longer can, when it's no longer an option; you feel it._

" _I can ride a bike, you know one of those stationary ones," I suggest._

" _And you can do weights," he adds._

So I let him talk me into it. Hell, why not. Gotta do something to keep my weight in check. I'm used to people staring by now as it is. It doesn't bother me.

" _Can ya drink beer there?"_

 _Pony has that look on his face, that 'really?' sort of look. He's managed to stay off the booze for several months now. Probably for the best, he's a lot more sedate, doesn't have those fits of rage anymore. Thank god, because for a time, he was a real worry._

" _Just kidding Pony. Besides there's always the tavern across the road afterwards."_

But I've cut down on my own drinking. I can't drink during the day because I work. I've also been saving my money to get the car. And well, Pony doesn't drink anymore so there's no point in going to the tavern after work with him. I only have about four beers in the evening and that's it, which makes the old girl happy. Hell, I used to drink a lot more before I joined the Army and all the time. But that was then, and it's all different now. I've become responsible. Which is the last thing I'd ever thought I'd become.

" _It's called growing up," mom had said to me when I'd griped about it. "I'm proud of you, Keith."_

I'd been touched, almost at a loss for words. Which is rare for me. The war sure does change a person. I keep up the jokes, the light heartedness, because that's how I deal with things. Don't mean that I don't feel what I've lost.

I glance at the racks of blouses. Maybe I will buy the old girl something anyway. She deserves it. She's done it tough, bringing up me and my sister all on her own. The shop owner is nowhere to be seen. In times past I would have stolen something by now. For a moment the thought crosses my mind. It's been a while. Then I remind myself I'm this respectful citizen now, not an 18 year old with nothing else better to do. I shake my head and look at the irony of it. Yep, the war sure has done a number on me.

"You look stuck," one of the girls speaks beside me.

I turn to look at her. She's blonde and has brown eyes. She ain't drop dead gorgeous, but pretty all the same. What's even better is that I don't have to make the first move here.

"I'm looking for something my mom might like to wear," I return.

She smiles warmly. "Is it her birthday?"

"Nah, just wanted to get her something for putting up with the likes of me."

Her smile widens as her eyes skim over my face. "You don't look like the type to be difficult."

I smile back. "I've mellowed out with age."

This is going good so far. She has a sense of humor. I can tell by the way she looks at me that she likes what she sees.

"Really," she begins, her eyes curious, "You don't look old enough to have mellowed out."

"It ain't the years, but the experiences."

Her eyes travel to the cane in my hand and back up to my face. A thoughtful look crosses her face. "I guess it does," she says softly. She doesn't look freaked about me missing a leg. That's a start.

"Vietnam?" she asks.

I nod. "Yeah. I wouldn't recommend it as a tourist destination."

She laughs. "I'll remember that next time I'm looking to book a holiday." Her eyes sparkle with amusement. "What's your name?"

"Two-Bit," I begin.

She raises an eyebrow. "That's a name?"

"It's Keith, but no one calls me that except my mom."

"So it's a nick name that has a story behind it?"

I shrug. "I'm kinda renowned for having my say and giving my Two-Bit's worth."

She sure does have a pretty smile.

"What about you?"

"I'm Linda."

The conversation comes to an abrupt halt when loud yelling comes from out the back. A woman is wailing. "Please don't do this." She sounds desperate.

"Don't tell me what to fucking do!"

A back door crashes open. A wild looking man, maybe all of 24, comes staggering out. His eyes are bloodshot. He's thin as a rail, and he's either drunk, or on drugs.

"What the fuck are you all looking at?!" he yells.

That's when I notice the gun in his hand. My heart sinks. Fucking terrific. A woman follows him, looking distraught with tears streaming down her face.

"Please come back," she begs. "Put the gun down … Larry!"

I freeze for a moment before his name escapes my lips. "Larry?!"

He spins around to look at me, swaying on the spot. I barely recognize him. Larry was the toughest son of a bitch in our platoon.

"It's me," I begin, pointing at my chest. "Two-Bit Matthews."

Recognition flitters in his eyes. "Matthews," he murmurs, glancing down at my leg. "You were … you stepped on that mine … had your leg blown off."

Great, memories that don't need to be aired right now, but I'm too shocked by the sight of him and how changed he is to give it much thought.

"I'm alright now."

His eyes fill with tears. Larry never fucking cried. "C-Curtis," he stammers. "What happened to him? I was there when the Lieutenant stepped on the mine. Curtis was hurt bad. I tried to help him."

I run a hand through my hair, noticing how it shakes. "He's good now. He survived it. Curtis is fine. He's back with his brothers. He's living here in Tulsa."

I'd forgotten all about Ponyboy. He's taking his sweet merry time at the bank. I wish he'd fucking walk through the shop door right now. It might calm down Larry, who has obviously lost it.

"Hey, man," I attempt to reassure. "Just put the gun away. Ain't no place for it here."

I slowly approach him. "C'mon, man. I'll put it away for you."

He's shaking from head to foot. I don't know why he's lost it. He's the last person I'd ever thought would. But for some, coming home is tougher. That's when the shit hits the fan.

"We're home now," I continue.

"This ain't home anymore," he gets out in a choked voice. "We're fucking strangers here."

"Maybe, but it won't always be like that."

At least I hope it won't. I've seen too much of the toll the war has taken. I pull a packet of cigarettes out of my pocket. "You wanna a cigarette? We'll chat. It'll be okay. I got ya back Larry. Just give me the gun."

His shoulders slump. I pull out a smoke and hand it out to him. He takes it from my hand. Seizing the moment, I lightly reach for the gun and take it from him. He lets it go willingly, much to my relief.

"You think it's going to be okay, Matthews? We ain't fucking heroes. We're nothing here."

"Dodge the draft you're a fucking hero now," I try to quip, but I sound bitter. "Go to war and fight and you're the scum of the earth."

I hand him my lighter. "So much for poetic justice."

"You always were a wise cracking son of a bitch," he mutters. "Fucking missed you after you left."

I glance at Linda and her friend, they both look terrified. I indicate to the shop door with my eyes. "Go now," I tell them.

Linda nods, her face is pale, but I see a slight hesitation in her eyes. So much for getting to chat her up.

I look at the frazzled woman, gripping the counter. She must be his mother given her age. I pity her. It ain't easy seeing your loved ones return home strangers. "You might wanna close the shop," I suggest, handing her the gun. "Put this is a safe place."

* * *

Larry eventually settles down. He crashes out the back on an old sofa. His mother, Joan, kept thanking me, telling me how much he's changed since returning from that blasted war. "He's not the same. All he does is drink all day."

"Doesn't help with the way they treat us," I tell her. "Ain't much help for returning soldiers and everybody wants to wash their hands off us. Like we don't exist."

"It's a dirty war," she moans.

I know. I fought in it. "Truth is, Joan. We were all conned. Ain't ya son's fault."

I'm too aware of the time and Pony being out there, somewhere. I gotta find him. Seeing Larry in this state has only made me more anxious. I know Ponyboy is in a better place, but still … it's not like him to be gone for this long.

I leave my number with her. "Tell him to call me. He doesn't have to go through this alone."

She profusely thanks me, and I make a hasty retreat. My nerves are frayed by this time. Someday this is fucking turning out to be.

* * *

I no sooner step out the door, when I see Linda. She's leaning against a lamp post, a cigarette in one hand. Her friend is nowhere to be seen.

I'm surprised to see her still here, waiting for me.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she explains with a slight hesitation in her voice. As if maybe she's being too forward. "What you did," she continues. "It was brave. Don't always see it much."

Her eyes wander down to my artificial leg. "It was a rough way to lose a leg."

No thanks to Larry, blurting it out like he did. This is where I should make light of it. Try to find a joke, try to find humor to offset it all.

"Still got the other one," I say.

A tentative smile crosses her face. "You want to go get coffee some time, or a drink?" she asks.

Is she for real? Her eyes are sincere. I smile. "Yeah, sounds good."

Her smile widens in return as she hands me a scrap of paper. "It's my number."

Pleasantly pleased, I take the piece of paper and put it in my shirt pocket. This is turning out to be a real odd day.

"Thanks," I murmur, my eyes resting on her face. I see the light scatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. I briefly wonder how old she is. Maybe early 20's. She has a wide generous smile. Lively brown eyes full of curiosity and life. I wonder who she is and what she does for a living, but my thoughts stray back to Pony. I need to find him. I need to put my mind at ease.

"I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm looking out for my friend …"

"He's sitting in your car waiting for you," she finishes for me.

My eyes go straight to my car. Sure enough, Pony is sitting in the passenger seat. My instant relief is palpable.

"The kid is a worry at times," I mutter.

"He's not a kid."

"Still is to me," I tell her. "I've known him for years. Guess I can't see it any other way."

Though I should. But it's Ponyboy. He's always been the youngest. Always the one Darry's stressed about. Hell, the one we all have. I'll never stop worrying about him.

"You care a lot," she begins in a soft voice. Her warm eyes meet with mine. I can tell she really likes what she sees. Fuck, it's been a while.

"I'll see you around, Keith."

"Yeah, take care, Linda."

She gives me a parting wave, and I watch her walk down the street.

"No one calls me, Keith," I call after her in a light tone of voice.

"I like it," she calls back over her shoulder.

Normally that would have bugged me, but for same strange reason it doesn't. I smile to myself and shake my head. It's one hell of a strange day.

My eyes rest on Pony, sitting in the car. I was worried all for nothing. I can't help feeling a bit annoyed.

"What the fuck, Pony!" I exclaim as I approach the car. "Where you been?"

He glances at me, frowning. "Here."

"Why didn't ya come to the shop?" I continue, opening the car door. "I could have done with your help. You ain't gonna believe who I saw in there."

 _You ain't gonna believe that a pretty girl with her head screwed on gave me her number_ , but I'll leave that for later.

I get in the car and close the door. "Larry Jenkins, you remember him?"

Pony doesn't answer. I slot the key in the ignition and turn to look at him. "You don't remember Larry?"

He blinks. "Yeah. I remember Larry."

A flash of pain crosses his face. I shake my head. "What's wrong with you? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Almost just as bad," he murmurs in a distracted tone of voice.

I feel my stomach tense up. What now? There's always something with Pony, some drama of one kind or another.

"I have a daughter," he blurts out.

At first the words don't register. Did he mention the word daughter? I have to be hearing things now. "Say what?"

He takes a deep breath, looks at me. "I have a daughter."

For a moment, I'm totally speechless.

"You might wanna close your mouth before you catch flies," he lightly quips, then swallowing.

"That's real fucking funny, Pony. Have you lost your mind, how the hell do you have a daughter …" my voice breaks off there when Cherry comes to mind.

Of course. He was sleeping with her.

"You didn't use any protection like a condom?"

"No," he mutters. "It was … hell … I didn't think of it."

"You learn nothing back in sex ed at school?"

He blinks heavily. My heart is pounding in my chest. Fuck. It can't be. Pony can't be a father. He's not much more than a kid himself. He's not long turned 20.

I let out a slow breath. "Well, if this don't beat all. How did you find out? Did you see Cherry? Did she tell you?"

"No …" he hisses. "I ran into her cousin, David. You know the Soc that beat me up, the one that laid the charges and … he told me."

I sit there, stupefied for a moment. "Shit way to find out you're a father," I murmur out loud. "I guess that's why he dropped the charges."

Pony's hand trembles as he pulls a cigarette out of packet. "Why didn't she tell me?"

The poor kid looks all shook up. I don't blame him.

"Maybe she didn't know how," I suggest. Though I have no idea. I'm still in a state of shock myself. Ponyboy has kid?! It's the last thing I expected. What next? Man, if this day couldn't get any weirder.

"Why the hell would he tell you?"

Pony lights a cigarette. "He didn't realize I didn't know, told me to be more responsible." He draws back deeply. "He said it's too bad the kid had such a loser greaser for a father."

My hands clutch the steering wheel. "Typical," I mutter. "And you ain't no loser, Pony."

He shrugs. "But I am. I don't have a job. I can't leave the house. I'm in no fit state to be a father."

I hear the defeat in his voice, which I've come to hate. I turn fiercely in my seat to look him square in the eyes.

"For now. But you'll get pass this. You'll get better, and you'll make a damn amazing father, you hear me!"

I think of Larry, losing his shit. Larry of all people. And it could have been Ponyboy, but he's managed to pull himself through.

"At least ya trying to get better and that counts for something."

I start the engine. "I'm sure she had her reasons for not telling you," I continue as I pull out on to the road.

I'm still in a numb state of disbelief. Pony's a fucking father. I let out a short laugh.

"Hell, kid. You're the youngest out of all of us and you're a dad."

Pony's face goes pale. "What do I do?"

This is one question I can't answer, not nearly well enough. I grasp at straws.

"I don't know, but you two looked pretty cosy outside the court house. She cares about you. And she obviously was adamant that you'll never go to jail. Don't say I blame her when she has your baby. Damn, but she's pretty protective of you too." I kinda almost admire her, but part of me is a bit pissed too. What if she was using him? There's a lot I don't know about the two of them, and Pony doesn't ever say much when it comes to girls.

"She did ask me to come and see her when I was better," he begins hesitatingly, "thing is, I'm not better."

"Hell, Pony. You're better now than you've been in a long while."

* * *

Two-Bit's words are oddly comforting. And maybe he's right. Either way, I have to see her. Soon as we reach my house, I bolt inside.

"What's the rush, Pony?" Two-Bit calls out, but I don't answer.

I swallow my nerves and grab my car keys from the bench, heading for the front door just as Two-Bit is walking through. He looks perplexed.

"I have to see her," I tell him.

"You think that's a good idea, maybe you should sleep on it for tonight, go and see her tomorrow."

I vehemently shake my head. "Sleep," I mutter. "No way am I gonna get to sleep. And I gotta go out on my own at some time. I can't keep living like this, shut up in my house."

For the first time in a while, I feel determined. "I need to see her."

"What about Darry and Soda?" Two-Bit asks. He flings his arms wide. "What do I tell them?"

"Nothing about the baby, just tell them that I've gone to see Cherry."

* * *

I must have played over the last two encounters I've had with Cherry since returning from Vietnam. Every single word. _"Get better. I know you will. You're stronger than you think._ " Every single expression on her face. _Eyes full of longing and questions. Questions I don't get._ And every single touch. _The way her fingers lightly brush against my mouth._ The feel of her lips against mine. But interwoven with that are other memories too. In Vietnam. Her sadness. Her desperation. The loss of dreams that shatter when reality comes crashing through. _I'd do anything. Anything to get out of this place. Anything to go home._

Did she use me? Had she always planned to get pregnant as a means of escaping that war? The war was hell.

I don't blame her if she did.

That's not the issue. The issue is … why me? Why use me?

What we had … what was it?

 _Was is it love?_ What is love? Did I find it? Do we have it?

Do I want it?

Maybe I do. I'm filled with so much uncertainty. It gnaws away at my insides, putting me on edge.

* * *

Her house surprises me when I find it. It's just out of town, on a large acre block of land. There is nothing ritzy about it. It's simple and plain. Is she all alone out here? And if so, why? I have so many questions. Her face, that day on the front steps of the courthouse, flashes through my mind. The wistful look in her eyes as she glances past me to my brothers. _"You're lucky to have them."_ I had sensed her loneliness. I wanted to ask why, what put it there. Her eyes were full of longing and questions. Questions I didn't get then.

Now I do.

For a moment I just sit in the car, trying to get my emotions in check. Trying to figure out what I'm gonna say. I'm shit scared. But I can't stay in the car forever. Slowly and hesitantly, I climb out of the car. My legs feel like lead as I walk towards her front door. My mouth goes dry. My heart is beating erratically in my chest. You can do this, I tell myself. Just keep calm.

The front door to the house opens just as I'm about to walk up the porch steps. She stands there, a look of disbelief on her face followed by a whole other host of emotions; worry and uncertainty.

She looks as nervous as I feel.

"Ponyboy," she begins.

I swallow. "Cherry …" and then my voice sort of gives out.

A long awkward, painful moment of silence stretches out before us. I clutch the rail post for support. Just say it. "W-Why didn't you tell me?" I get out in a choked voice.

She sags against the doorjamb. I don't miss the way her hands start to tremble, the way her face goes pale. A hand clutches at her chest. "You know," she gasps. "How?"

"Your cousin."

Her eyes widen with shock. "He told you!"

"Not intentionally. I kinda ran into him outside the bank." I rake an unsteady hand through my hair. "He didn't know that … I didn't know."

She looks really upset. "Ponyboy …" she begins, her eyes filling with tears. "I-I didn't want you to find out like that … you should never have found out that way."

But I did. I swallow the hurt, remembering the smug look on her cousin's face. His callous words.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry."

Somehow, I manage to make it up the front steps. Despite my uncertainty. My fears.

"I was going to tell you," she continues, her face sad and hurting.

In my heart, I know that. Cherry is not one for lies and deception.

Slowly, she moves towards me. "I couldn't tell you when you were still in Vietnam. You would have been too distracted."

I know. I know. But there is still one burning question in the back of my mind. "D-Did you use me?"

"No!" A stricken look crosses her face. "Never."

I swallow the lump in my throat. I believe her.

"I-I wasn't thinking … I was desperate … I can't lie. I'd lie awake at night, dreading the thought of something happening to you. I was seeing it all around me. The broken, mangled bodies … and death. Just the thought. I couldn't bear it. What if you had died?" She takes a deep breathe.

"I didn't plan it, Ponyboy. But I'd hoped. And when I found out I was pregnant, I was … so relieved, because if you had died, then part of you would still live on."

Her hands rest on either side of my face. Her eyes are filled with such sincerity and longing. "But you survived, thank god." Her breathe catches in her throat. "You came back. You're here."

Her words, as always, fill me with such longing. I know she's telling the truth. She's always had this upfront honesty. It's what makes her so beautiful.

She leans into me. My arms wrap around her. I can't fight it. It's been so long. I don't understand this attraction, but it's there. It's real. I'm here. She's here. Maybe I should be angry. I don't know. Maybe I just can't. What we shared. It was pain. It was empathy. Truth is, she saved me as much as I did her. Baby or not. Though the thought freaks me out. I'm young, but not. I lost my youth to the war. I've already had to grow up well before my time. But there are some things I'm still not ready for.

My hands stroke her hair. "I-I'm not better," I murmur. "Cherry, I'm … too damaged."

Her arms tighten around me. "But you're here."

I don't know what she means by that. "You're here, Ponyboy. You wouldn't be here if you were not better, or at least trying to be."

She doesn't get it. How broken I am. I would tell her if I could. But her hold on me is so tight. Like she never wants to let me go again.

"It's over," she murmurs, her voice aching with sadness. "It's over, Ponyboy. You don't have to fight anymore. I don't have to mend the maimed. We can just be."

She pulls back and looks up at me with hopeful eyes. "It's over."

Once again, her words fill with me such conviction. I want to believe. So desperately, to believe that I can get better, that I can heal and hell, maybe have a chance of being whole again.

I hesitatingly raise a hand and lightly caress her cheek. "You think?"

"I know."

Her hands rest in mine. "Just see her and you'll know too."

I swallow the lump in my throat as a terror takes hold. See her. My daughter.

"She's sleeping right now."

Cherry's hand gently tugs at mine. "You need to see her."

* * *

I let her lead me inside the house, through the foyer and down the hallway. My daughter. I still find it too hard to believe. I'm just 20 years old. What would I know about parenting?! But then Darry comes to mind. Darry who had to look after me and Soda at just 20 years of age, two grown teenagers.

I let her take me, lead me right into the nursery. And there she sleeps. Just a little baby. Not a teenager to contend with. She sleeps with one chubby fist curled up under her face. Long, dark eyelashes brush against her cheek. Nothing has looked so pure and innocent in a long while than the sight of her sleeping.

She's beautiful. Perfect. The thought of anything turning out so perfect in this damaged world just blows me away.

My breathe catches in my throat at the sight of her. Tears fill my eyes. This can't be part of me. Nothing this perfect can be. I can't produce something so beautiful.

"W-What is her name?" I ask, trying to suck up the raw emotion I feel.

"Hope." Cherry takes a deep breath, her eyes searching mine. "I called her hope, because I had to believe … I had to believe we could survive this."

A solitary tear tracks down my cheek. "It's fitting," I say. Hope. I reach out a tentative hand and lightly stroke the strawberry blonde downy hair on her head. This is real. This is part of me.

My eyes meet with Cherry and a shared understanding passes between us. We created this life together. Out of all the ugliness of war and shared pain, we produced a life. The sudden realization hits me square in the guts.

I feel the baby begin to stir and quickly withdraw my hand. Her eyes blink open and nothing can prepare me for the solemn gaze that meets mine. My own eyes looking back at me. I founder in a well of emotion. Then her gaze goes to Cherry and a wide toothless grin lights up her face. Suddenly it's all too much. This. I need air. I need to breathe.

"I … I gotta get some space," I gasp and quickly exit the room, heading for the front porch.

I fall onto the single seat sofa, burying my face in my hands. I don't bother to fight back the tears that threaten. I can't. Just like I can't put my emotions into some kind of order. That little baby in there has opened up a floodgate of feelings inside of me. I'm lost in my own world.

I don't know how much time passes. The shadows lengthen as the sun drops lower in the sky. Maybe I smoke several cigarettes during that time. I don't know. Time ceases to exist.

It isn't until I hear the fly screen door open that I become aware of my surroundings.

I turn my head and look up to see Cherry standing on the front porch with Hope in her arms.

"Are you okay?" she asks a worried look on her face.

"I think so … just needed a moment to get my head around it."

She sits down next to me and my eyes rest on Hope. The whole thought of her terrifies me, but not in a bad way. I know nothing about babies? But I'm still so in awe of her. The curiosity in her eyes, eyes that are riveted to my face, like I'm some kind of novelty. Like she's sussing me out.

"I know this is a big shock for you," Cherry begins. "It takes some adjustment."

She's not wrong about that! I find myself filled with curiosity.

"How old is she?"

"Six months."

My jaw clenches. "All this time I've had a daughter I never knew about."

"I wanted to tell you so many times," Cherry sighs, "I was just waiting … for the right time."

"It's just as well you did. I was …" I take a breath, feeling ashamed. "Not in a good place."

A soft smile tilts up the corners of her mouth. "I remember, but you've come a long way in three months, since the first time I saw you."

I recall that time. On the back porch on my house. I was trying to work off my frustration on the punching bag. Suddenly, there she was. The amount of times I've played that over in my head.

"I told you to walk away."

"I know." I hear the hurt in her voice. "Not that I was ever going too. I was never going to give up on you, Ponyboy."

Her words move me with their fierce sincerity. I manage a brief smile. I raise a hand and touch her cheek. "Still determined and honest."

"When it comes to you."

"Why?"

Our eyes lock and hold. I'm mesmerized by the sweet longing in the depth of her gaze.

"I don't know of anyone else like you. You see me in a way no one else does. You give me what no one else has."

I'm stunned into silence.

"I think I fell in love with you when we swam in the beach, you in your y-fronts and all embarrassed about it." An amused smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "I'd never seen you laugh so much. Then we sat on the beach, and I felt I could tell you anything."

A lump forms in my throat.

"And you," she begins hesitantly.

My eyes sweep over her pretty face. I swallow. "Always. I think I've always loved you from the moment I met you."

Surprise lights up her eyes. A hint of color flashes in her cheeks.

"I never could forget you," I admit.

If there was one thing I hadn't expected was this sudden upfront honesty about our feelings towards each other. I guess in Vietnam we couldn't take the chance in going there.

Hope starts wriggling in Cherry's arms. "M, m, m," she begins to babble.

My eyes rest on her. She's gnawing away on what looks to be some kind of biscuit. A displeased look crosses her face, and she promptly tosses the biscuit on the ground.

I bend down to pick it up. A delighted toothless grin suddenly lights up her sweet little face. She reaches out a chubby hand for it, but Cherry quickly intervenes.

"I don't think so. It's all yucky now."

Hope lets out an unhappy cry. I sit there, mesmerized by this little being. My heart jumps into my throat at the sight of her. Fuck, but she's real. I actually have a daughter. I still can't comprehend it. The thought both thrills and terrifies me at the same time.

"You'll stay for dinner?" Cherry asks. I hear the uncertainty in her voice. A wistfulness, maybe you could even call it loneliness. I sense that she needs me here.

"Sure. I'd like that."

* * *

We go inside the house, into the lounge room. I watch as Cherry gently puts Hope on a special blanket in the middle of the floor. She reaches for a basket full of toys.

"I think it's time you got to know her," Cherry begins, glancing up at me with a soft smile. "I need to have a shower. Why don't you sit on the floor with her, and watch her as she plays with the toys."

She has to be kidding, right? Cherry gets to her feet, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"It won't take long for her to warm to you, Ponyboy. Trust me. She can crawl now too, so don't let her get into anything she shouldn't. Babies at this age put everything into their mouths."

I nod, feeling a sudden panic take hold. Cherry gives me a reassuring kiss on the cheek.

"Just be yourself."

With that she leaves the room. I take a deep breath and sit on the floor. Hope sits there gazing up at me. I smile, well try too.

"Okay, then," I begin. "Let's found out your favorite toy."

I start pulling out an assortment of colorful, fluffy teddy bears. Some rattle toy. Another one that squeaks. Hope is watching me the whole time.

I line the toys up. I don't get far before she crawls unsteadily towards a big pink elephant. Once again a big smile lights up her face. She grabs for the elephant with a delighted squeal. It goes straight into her mouth.

I feel a real warm genuine smile on my face. "So that's your favorite?"

She starts making gurgling noises. I pick up another toy. It's a unicorn, I think. I wave it at her. "What about this one?"

Dropping the elephant, she reaches for the unicorn. She takes it from me, and once again it goes straight into her mouth. Then she holds it out to me and begins babbling, 'ba, ba, ba.'

The smile widens on my face. "You like that one too?"

She puts it back into her mouth. I reach for another toy, wave it at her and once again she reaches for it. This process continues, toy after toy.

"You like all of them?"

She squeals so loud it almost makes my ears ring. Much to my surprise, I laugh. Cherry wasn't wrong when she said it wouldn't take long for Hope to trust me. It seems so natural to gently pull her onto my lap. She comes willingly, a toy still clutched in her hands.

I can do this. I think, I can be a father. She's just a little human being, just starting out. My future might be uncertain, but this – this moment right now is real.

Seeing movement in the doorway, I glance up to see Cherry. There's a look of relief and contentment on her face. Her damp hair curls around her shoulders. She smiles and her eyes shine. She looks more beautiful than ever.

"I've not heard you laugh in a long while."

I see the wistfulness in her eyes.

"Don't remember the last time I laughed."

"Babies have a way of doing that to you. They have a way of putting everything into perspective."

They do, strangely enough. I hadn't expected it to be this easy. But then Cherry has a way of putting me at ease. She understands what I went through, like Two-Bit she was there. I don't think anyone else could fully know what it was like.

I absently run a hand over Hope's soft downy hair. Holding her in my arms is a feeling I can't even begin to explain.

Cherry sits down on the floor next to me, drying her hair with a towel. I catch the scent of her shampoo. It smells like apples. Her face is devoid of any make-up. She's wearing a simple jade colored shirt over a pair of blue denim jeans. The moment is so surreal.

"I have no idea on where to go from here?" I tell her.

Her hand slips into mine. "I think we just take it one day at a time, Ponyboy." A hesitant smile tilts up the corners of her mouth. "Right now, I just want to make the most of this moment. You, here. Us. And Hope. We don't need to rush into anything. You don't know how long I've dreamed of this moment."

I hear the wistful tone in her voice. And for the first time I'm aware that there is no else around. She is kinda isolated out here. There is a burning question on the tip of my tongue. "Are you all alone?"

She inclines her head slightly, her fingers reaching out and tickling Hope's tummy.

"Let's just say my parents were not happy when I returned home pregnant."

My stomach twists into knots. I'd never thought about it. How it must have been for her.

"I brought disgrace upon the family name," she continues, a brief flicker of pain in her eyes.

"That's tough, Cherry. You, bringing up a baby all on your own."

She shrugs, but I don't miss the pensive note in her voice. "I'm not entirely ostracized," she continues. "My mother does call by from time to time, giving me a lecture of one kind or another."

Hope's sudden babbling brings a smile to Cherry's lips.

"You know I'm fiercely independent," she points out.

She tosses a strand of hair over her shoulder. I see the determination in her eyes.

"Besides, having a baby forced me into holding myself together."

Her green eyes are alive with such loving intensity. "It kept me grounded."

Unable to resist, I lightly caress her cheek. The warmth in her eyes captivates me. Hell, everything about her does. I've spent so long in my own misery that I've forgotten what it is to feel alive again.

"I had money, though this place does belong to a relative. I figure it's temporary for now. I manage," she continues.

Feeling Hope begin to wriggle in my arms, I drop my hand from Cherry's face and secure her in place. I'm aware of my own pitiful financial situation.

"I don't have a job," I mutter. Otherwise I could help her out. "I should get one … just … haven't been able to leave the house. I get flashbacks and …"

I can see she understands, that I don't need to explain, but I do. "I'm still … struggling."

"It's only been nine months since you've been back, Ponyboy," she points out. "It's going to take a while. I know how hard it is."

Has it really been that long? My eyes rest on her face. I feel bad that she's had to be alone for so long. Once again, I'm reminded of how lucky I am to have had my brothers to help me get through. I've had Two-Bit, who was there and all of our shared experiences. Someone who totally got what I'd been through.

But Cherry - she's done it alone.

* * *

I end up staying the night. It was getting late. I wasn't ready to leave yet. It was tough enough driving during the day, let alone during the dark of night. Cherry wanted me stay. She's been alone for too long. I guess now that I've found her again, found an inner peace and connectedness, I want to hold onto it. For the first time in a very long while, I feel normal. I feel hopeful. She makes me believe in myself, just like she did all those years ago, when I was just a 14 year old greaser kid, and her a 16 year old Soc.

* * *

I ring up Darry and Soda to let them know what I'm doing. They sound unsure on the phone, but also impressed that I actually summoned up the nerve to leave the house on my own. I tell them I'll explain it to them all tomorrow. I can only picture how that'll go down. _By the way I have a six month old daughter._ Shit. How they gonna react to that? Glad it's not tonight though. I've been through enough emotional upheaval for one day.

* * *

After putting Hope to bed, Cherry and I sit on the sofa in the lounge room and talk about everything. She's shares all of her fears and dreams with me. I listen, because it's not just about me anymore. I need a break from that, from me. She talks about her past mistakes, mixing with the wrong people, getting hurt. So hurt that she didn't think she'd ever get past it. She doesn't do into details about it, but I already know enough. I remember that day on the beach. I remember seeing the resigned sadness in her eyes and the way it made my heart ache in a strange way. I remember her hollow words, _'They shattered all of my illusions and broke every bit of my heart.'_

One day, when she's ready, she'll tell me. Though I'm not sure how I'll go hearing it. The thought of anyone hurting her already makes my jaw clench in a way I don't like. Rage. I know too much of that.

* * *

Eventually we end up in her bedroom. It seems a natural progression. Though sex is out of the question as neither one of us having any means of protection.

"It's not about sex," she tells me. "I just want to be close to you."

I stand there full of uncertainty, as she removes her blouse. Her skin is so smooth and unblemished. My hands long to touch her. I swallow the lump in my throat. She reaches for a sleeveless lace nightie.

"Are you going to sleep fully dressed," she says, with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

Pulling the nightie over her head, she approaches me. Her hands instantly go to the buttons of my shirt. I'm suddenly aware of the sight she's about to see. I remember all too clearly the distress on Soda's face when he first saw the scars. I remember the tears in Two-Bit's eyes, _'fuck that, Pony. They can't send you back to Nam like that.'_ It might have been a year ago and the scars have started to fade, but the horror of that day hasn't.

"Cherry," I begin, my mouth going dry. I place a hand over hers. "Before you see, I need to let you know that …" Oh hell, I don't even know how to say this. I swallow. "Just wanna warn you that I have some scarring from the shrapnel."

Her tender gaze meets mine. "I know, you mentioned it in the letter."

There was so much I'd never mentioned in that letter. The weeks I'd spent in Japan, full of so much pain, anger and hate.

She continues to unbutton my shirt and I let her. It's only a matter of time before she sees them. My shirt falls to the ground.

Whatever sweet amusement was in her eyes suddenly leaves. I hear her take in a deep breath and then release it shakily. Her eyes are full of pained shadows. I can see what she is thinking.

How close I came to dying.

"Ponyboy." My name is not much more than an anguished whisper on her lips. It makes my guts twist into knots.

Her fingers tremble as they lightly run over the numerous scars criss-crossing my chest and lower abdomen. "How …" she swallows. "You … survived this?"

I catch her hand in mine. For an endless moment I think I'll never breathe again. "Don't say lucky," I manage to murmur in a hoarse voice.

But I am. I know I am and for the first time, I'm kinda glad my luck lasted.

* * *

I lie on my side facing her. A shaft of moonlight filters through the curtains. We don't speak. We don't need too. There is a peaceful contentment on her face, but also a sweet longing in her eyes as they gaze into mine. I reach out a hand to touch her, reassure myself that she is really here. My fingers lightly rest on the peak of her forehead and her hair falls, partially covering her face. I gently tuck the strands of hair behind her ear.

Where do we go from here? Hell, I'll let tomorrow worry about itself. Tonight, I'm with Cherry. Tonight I don't need memories of her to deal with the nightmares. I have the real thing. I pull her into my arms and just hold her. She snuggles into me, her hair falling over my shoulder, caressing my cheek and tickling my nose. Her hand clasps mine as if she never wants to let it go. She is so close, warm and intimate.

I never thought I'd have this kind of closeness again.

I don't know how long it'll take for me to be better. But for now, for tonight, I feel secure in her believe that eventually I will.

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 **A/N:** Thanks so much for reading! This chapter is a long one! I always finding it harder to write when I get close to the end of a story! There are probably only about two chapters left to go! Please leave a review and let me know what you all think.

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	29. Chapter 29

**A/N:** So sorry about the wait! I've had a lot on my plate and needed a section of time so I could complete this chapter. It always does get harder to write when getting to the end of a story and this one is a long one!

I would like to say thank you very much to all the people who have reviewed this story. You can't imagine how much it has meant to me! There are some guest reviewers too, who I can't thank in person, but I would also like to say thanks so much for taking the time to review as guest! Some of those reviews have been amazing!

Enjoy!

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* * *

 _ **Chapter 29.**_

* * *

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Ponyboy didn't come home last night. He was spending the night with Cherry. I don't know what suddenly prompted him do that when he's not left the house in months. I know they've been exchanging letters. I know they share certain kinds of feelings. I saw the way she kissed him outside the court house. I didn't miss the tender way they held each other. I have very mixed thoughts about it all. I don't know Cherry. That doesn't help. All I know of her is the day she testified in court all those years ago. She was the girlfriend of Bob, the soc Johnny had killed, the very Soc that could have drowned my brother if Johnny hadn't stabbed him. The fateful repercussions of that day still continue to reverberate in our lives.

Cherry was a Soc, not that none of that matters now other than the different circles we still move around in. She's from a wealthy family, we're poor as a church mouse. They have all of the privileges, we have none.

All I know of Cherry is that she's honest. Her honesty that day in court had impressed me.

But what does she want with Ponyboy? What is her attachment to my youngest brother? And how the hell did she manage to get him to leave the house and see her? She must have some sort of strong hold over him. It leaves an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.

His voice had sounded odd over the phone last night. I can't begin to put my finger on it, why he sounded different? I had a fitful sleepless night. I can never sleep when Ponyboy's not in the house.

Today I'm distracted. Is there ever gonna be a day when I'm not thinking or worrying about him? Ever since mom and dad died, it's always been like that. You feel it as the oldest. It's also affecting my relationship with Sue. I try not to let it, but it does. As patient as she is, sometimes I can tell she wants to say more but holds it in.

I know she'll be waiting for me at the College cafe. I spend two days at College and work four days. I do it tough, so she tells me, but then I don't have a choice. She has mentioned in a kind tone of voice that Ponyboy is 20 now, he's an adult and not a child anymore. I know that, but what she doesn't get is Ponyboy's fragile state of mind after his experiences in Vietnam. She can't possibly know what it's like to see a person you care fiercely about change so dramatically.

At least Ponyboy isn't drinking anymore but I hear him at nights, tossing and turning in his bed, always having nightmares. I hear him, hear the words that always chill me. _Don't send me back there! You don't know what hell is!_ The unspeakable horrors of that place. I hear him pace the small confines of his room, muttering under his breath. _Forget it, just forget. Don't think about it._ I try pulling the bedside covers over my head to block out his words, knowing I can't help him.

How do I explain the helplessness I feel as I watch my brother fall into a dark place I don't feel I can ever pull him back from? How do I explain the emaciated brother I barely recognized return home after a year of worrying if he'll survive the war, if I'll even see him again. And sure, he's not as bad as what he was those first six months home. It took nearly going to jail to wake him up, make him realize the path he was heading down. Thank god he did. But he still ain't the same. He still ain't right.

I hurry across the front spacious lawns, pulling my collar up at the winter's chilly breeze, seeing the College kids laughing without a care in the world. That could have been Ponyboy. It should have been. I know it could have been different if I'd only made him go to College and not gone in his place. I should have been more forceful despite his stubbornness.

I know how much is truly lost as result and it's sort of everything. I try not to dwell on it. I try real hard because it eats away at a part of me I feel I can never replace. I can't talk about these things with anyone, except maybe Soda. But then Soda just gets real sad. I know he feels the pain of everything we've lost as much I do. What do we do about Ponyboy? Will he ever smile again, laugh and be young, not so jaded. He's not long turned 20. Too young to be so lost. It's the war, and it's a lot of everything else too. Every day I think Pony should never had gone to war and never been trained to kill. I see what it's done to him. It breaks my heart. Because it's all just so wrong. It's every inconceivable wrongness.

I can't tell Sue about my deepest thoughts and fears. I don't think she would get it. Not many people would. But then I see her, reading a magazine, tucking a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, a slight amused smile on her face and I think, just maybe, we could have something … a future. Do I even go that far? When do I think about my future? For so long I've put my own life on hold.

Her face lights up at the sight of me. I'm 26. I'm not getting any younger. I want something, I want to … love and live. If dad was here … if … only … I can just imagine the way his hands would rest of my shoulders, how he would look me in the eye and I already know what he's going to say before he does. It's a line well-rehearsed. It's a line I had heard over and over again _. 'You are my pride and joy. If anything was to happen, I know you Darry. I know how strong you are. I put all of my trust into you. I know you'll look out for your brothers. I also know it won't be easy, but you … out of anyone, I know I can always count of you.'_

' _Sure dad.'_

How glibly I had said it, how naive I was, not thinking anything could go wrong, but it did. Little did I know those words would haunt me. Little did I know it would soon become a reality I was ill equipped to face. But I tried my best, even if my best wasn't always good enough.

* * *

The hours drag by. I try to focus on what the lecturer is saying, try to take notes, but my eyes keep drifting to the window and the darkening clouds gathering in the sky. I wonder if there'll be a storm. I hope not. Ponyboy and storms don't go well together. How long till he no longer has flashbacks? How long before the nightmares for him will stop?

I wonder if he'll be home yet. I wonder for the hundredth time what he's doing with Cherry and what compelled him to go see her.

* * *

By the time I get home Ponyboy's car is not in the driveway. I glance at my watch. It's almost four in the afternoon. Why isn't he home yet?

Once inside, I find Two-Bit sitting on the sofa watching the television. He looks up. "Hey, Darry." He's made himself perfectly at home as he always does, a beer in one hand.

"Two-Bit," I return, hanging my coat up on a hook nailed to the back of the door. "Ponyboy not home yet?"

"Not yet." He glances up at me, a slight frown denting his forehead. "I'm sure he's fine."

I know there is something Two-Bit's not telling me. I don't waste my breath trying to get it out of him either, he's fiercely loyal to Ponyboy. There would be no point. But he knows something. Once again, there is an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

Two-Bit raises an eyebrow. "Probably more than fine, probably getting lucky, good for him."

The thought doesn't sit right with me. If there was one thing I never had to worry about when it came to Ponyboy was girls. He seemed to have is head screwed on right there. Which surprised me given the environment he'd grown up in. Being exposed from too young an age with Steve and Soda's bragging of getting it on with girls and Two-Bit's love for busty blondes. Ponyboy was so shy around girls that I'd wonder if he'd ever even get a girlfriend. And I was sort of relieved about that too. After all there was no hurry for that. That's a drama I could do without.

I hear Soda's souped up car pull up in the driveway. He comes blustering through the front door with Steve in tow, a gust of cold air blasts through the door before Soda shuts it. Winter is definitely here.

"Pony, still not home?"

I glance at his disappointed face.

Steve merely snorts. "I don't know what you all worrying for. He's probably getting his rocks off, making sweet love all day long. Fuck it that ain't enough incentive for the kid to get in his car."

I work my jaw, given Pony's current mental state of health I don't see it. I know my brother. I know he isn't up for that yet. I'm well versed on the side effects of the medication Pony takes and one of them is loss of libido. It also causes tiredness and the only good thing to come out of it, increase in appetite. He has gained back most of the 35 pounds he'd lost in Vietnam and is looking healthy for the first time in a long while.

It has to be a lot more than the thought of sex to compel Ponyboy to get in his car to see her and the possibility of what that might be is what worries me the most.

* * *

I don't know how long I sit in my car. Lost in my own thoughts. I finger the photo of Hope in my shirt pocket, pulling it out to look at it. It was taken just over a week ago. I'm still floored by the sight of her face and those eyes that mirror my own. I guess I'm still kind of out of it because when I look up, everyone is at home. For a moment this surprises me until I realize that it's five in the afternoon. Darry generally doesn't get home till six, but he must have been at College today. I don't know why Steve and Soda have finished work either. And well, Two-Bit finishes real early and is always here. Half the time I don't even know what day it is anymore, the date or even the month. There was a time I used to hang out for the weekend. When I had a job. When I still felt productive.

Steve and Soda are sitting on the front porch. Two-Bit is making his way towards my car. He's the only one to know the truth so far, but I guess the whole truth is about to come out. I know Two-Bit wouldn't have said anything.

Darry is nowhere to be seen, maybe he's still in the house. His truck is parked in the driveway.

"Can't stay holed up in there for ever, Pony," Two-Bit quips, tapping on the car door window.

I see the questions in his eyes.

Hastily, I shove the photo back in my shirt pocket. Pulling the door handle to the car open, I scramble out, noticing the way Two-Bit is assessing me.

"Got a daughter?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I nod. All I can manage

"Fuck," he hisses. "Fuck that, Pony. What the hell are you gonna tell your brothers?"

"The truth, ain't no other way around it."

I want to tell Two-Bit just how amazing it is seeing your own kid, but I don't know how. It is sudden and it is daunting.

"She's something else," I mumble.

Two-Bit is still assessing me in a way I know only too well, he's already figured me out.

"Yeah, well, you have that lovesick look in ya eyes," he quips, "better rub it out before Steve sees it."

I look up to see Steve and Soda horse playing around. Even after all these years those two sill act like overgrown children.

Or maybe it's just a role they're all comfortable playing. I envy it in a way, that carefree attitude.

Everyone is here and I guess they're all gonna hear it sooner or later, better sooner. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I somehow manage to make my way up the front porch steps.

Soda notices me, and is quick to approach.

"Hey, Pony …" His eyes full of concern and curiosity.

But Steve is quick to have his say. "Cherry, huh. Ain't no surprises there, kid. So you two get it on or what?"

Not really, we kind of spent the night holding each other. It's something I can't even begin to explain, how connected I felt. Until the cold light of dawn began to slowly rise on the horizon. Then the doubts came back in full force. And all of the insecurities along with it.

What do I have to offer? I'm just a burned out wreck of what I once was. I've lost too much, I can't even walk out the fucking front door. What can I give? I'm still taking pills every day to deal with what I've had to do and see. It's not until a look into Hope's innocent eyes that I begin to think I have to get better, I have to be more. For her.

And then there is Cherry. She's seen enough horrors of her own. So much so, that she already had a script of the antidepressants that I'm currently taking in her cupboard. Though she's stopped taking them now. Had to. Had to get better for her daughter, our daughter.

Fuck. Our daughter.

Already, within just a one day, Hope has taken a liking to me. Almost like it's an instinctual thing. Like she knows I'm her father. Hopeless as I am, she doesn't care. But then she's just a baby. She doesn't know any differently.

When I look at Cherry I can't believe we have a kid together, and even though she's a couple of years older than me, it's not really that much. What's two years?

She's so independent. She's all about doing it all on her own, without her parents help, or anyone else's for that matter.

I'm certainly in no position to give anything, though she tells me I don't have too. She just needs me to be there.

Existing. As is. A former shadow of myself. Though I don't have the heart to tell her that, but I know she gets it. We just take it one day at a time, but as I'm driving home, all I can think about is what am I gonna do next?

Existing just isn't enough anymore.

My eyes rest on Soda's concerned face. I have to tell him, but not without Darry. I need to tell them both together. I need to tell them that I'm a father to a six month old baby girl. Just the thought makes my heart leap into my throat.

I glance at Steve. I should make a witty remark to his comment. He's frowning, no doubt trying to figure me out, like I'm an anomaly he's never been able to quite get.

Soda clears his throat. "What's going down, Pony. It ain't like you to be gone all night?"

I swallow. "I-I … needed to see her."

By this time Two-Bit has reached us. "This I gotta hear."

"Where's Darry?" I ask.

The words have no sooner left my mouth when I hear the front porch door creak open and Darry appears. I see the question in my brother's eyes. I didn't come home last night. It must be something else to drag me away like that. Everyone knows that I no longer leave the house.

"You've been gone a while, Ponyboy." I hear the questions in his voice.

I force my eyes to meet his. Nerves dampen my palms. There really is no easy way around this. Pulling the photo of Hope out of my pocket, I hand it to Darry, feeling a kind of sick apprehension.

"I … I have …" the words failing me. "A … d-daughter."

Darry's expression is one of total disbelief. I shove the photo in his hands. There is evidence enough. If nothing else. Darry seems to take forever to look at the photo, Soda leans in to get a look as well.

I hold my breath, at least I think I am. I know I'm not breathing properly. I've put my brothers through all sorts of shit, but this … this is something other entirely.

My eyes rest on Darry's face, maybe because his opinion matters the most, not that Soda's doesn't, but Soda always seems to take things better.

Darry blinks rapidly, I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not. Soda shoots a glance my way, even his expression is unreadable. I've managed to throw my brother's an eight ball curve, yet again.

I see Soda suck it up, the shock and all. As he always does.

"She has your eyes," he slowly exhales.

I look down at my bitten off finger nails. She does. I want to say more but my voice doesn't feel capable of expressing the right words.

Darry's jaw clenches.

"How … Pony?"

Not like it takes much to figure out. I had sex with Cherry. She got pregnant. I'm not a kid anymore.

His face reflects all of the doubt I feel.

"Pony," he says again. "What did you do?"

I swallow the lump in my throat, and then Steve comes to my rescue. "What the fuck does it look like Darry?"

Out of everyone, apart from Two-Bit, he looks the least shocked. In fact he doesn't look remotely surprised, as if this is just another day in the life of Ponyboy Curtis, always some drama of one kind or another.

"You fuck around and stuff happens," he continues. "Obviously ya clueless brother doesn't know the first thing about contraception."

He literally snatches the photo out of Darry's hands and lets out a long low whistle. "She's certainly your kid, kid." His eyebrows shoot up. "Probably shouldn't keep calling ya kid now that ya have a kid of your own."

Darry's face takes on that stony look, before he abruptly turns around and walks inside the house. The door slams shut behind him. I stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to make my feet move.

I know I've fucked up as usual, but I ain't sorry. Sure, I'm sort of terrified at the thought of being a father, but I don't wish it to be different. Strangely enough, for the first time since coming home from the war I have something other than myself to focus on.

I glance at Soda for reassurance, knowing he always gives it. Mixed emotions flicker across his face. I can almost see the cogs whirring in his brain. _This is Ponyboy, my baby brother who now has a baby of his own_.

"Give him time to get his head around it," he slowly says, letting out a breath. "This is something else … it's sudden … it's kinda a big shock."

I nod. Darry always needs time to process his emotional reactions. Soda takes the photo from Steve.

I slow, wry smile crosses his face. "I'm an uncle," he muses. "She sure is a pretty little thing." There is a slight wistful note to his voice that doesn't go unnoticed by me. But I don't know what to make of it.

Two-Bit lights up a cigarette and takes his turn to look at the photo of Hope.

"She sure is a spitting image of you."

Two-Bit hands me back the photo and I place it in my shirt pocket. I look up to see three sets of eyes looking at me as if trying to sus where I'm at with all of this.

"Hell, kid, but you sure do manage to get yourself in some messes," Steve mutters with a shake of his head.

Two-Bit draws back on his cigarette. "So when do we get to see her?"

"What?"

Shit, I haven't thought that far ahead. It begins to dawn on me that having a kid suddenly changes the dynamics of everything.

* * *

Its best I distract myself till I get my thoughts in order. Right now I feel like yelling at him. Instead I have the internal rage going on in my head. _What the hell, Ponyboy! What the hell were you thinking, or as usual, you never do!_

Ponyboy can't be a father. How the hell did that happen? I know the logistics behind it, but if it isn't one thing or another with him. But this … this is forever, being a parent, being responsible for a kid. He isn't up to being a father, he can't work, he can't leave the house and why would Cherry even want to have a kid with him? What was she thinking? She should have known better. What is their relationship? Because I can't call it a proper or a conventional one at that.

Seeing that photo, god if that didn't bring back memories. I was old enough to remember Ponyboy as a baby. His daughter is almost a spitting image of him. No two ways about it, just as Steve pointed out. That's when I felt the blood rushing to my head. I had to get out of there before I exploded. Before I lost it. Before I shook some sense into him.

Grabbing a bag of potatoes from the pantry, I dump a whole pile of them onto the bench. I almost pull the whole drawer out as I search for a peeler.

 _Ponyboy has a daughter,_ the words scream through my head. I blindly snatch for the peeler, returning my attention to the spuds. I begin peeling, one after another and another, lost in my own raging thoughts.

"Think you've peeled enough," comes Ponyboy's voice, sinking through the haze in my brain.

"Not nearly enough," I mutter in return, reaching for another potato.

I feel him standing there, awkward and unsure, but I can't bring myself to look at him yet.

The silence stretches. He eventually clears his throat. "Darry," he begins. "You gonna say something?"

 _You ain't gonna like what I say_ , but instead I mutter. "You wanna get a pot for these potatoes."

He stands there for a moment as if in disbelieve, before he moves to the cupboard next to the stove and retrieves a pot, which he places on the bench next to me.

"Think I prefer it when you're yelling," he says so quietly I barely hear him.

My jaw clenches. "Not far off, if I thought it would do any good. Bit late for that now." My words sound harsh even in my own ears.

Ponyboy's shoulders slump. I hear him drag in a deep breath. I don't know why I suddenly feel like lashing out at him. I've been so patient these last nine months. Guess I had to be, Ponyboy couldn't help suffering the way he did. I had the war to blame for that, but this … this I can't blame on anyone else but Ponyboy. He should have known better.

"You didn't think to use a condom?"

"Wasn't really thinking straight at the time," he replies with a sigh.

"And this relationship with Cherry, what is it? You haven't even had anything to do with her since returning from Vietnam."

"I haven't been in any fit state to get into a relationship," he murmurs, running a hand up the back of his neck in agitation. "Couldn't get into one in Vietnam either."

"But you still could manage to screw each other." I regret the words soon as they are out of mouth.

He flinches, but I don't miss the defiance in his eyes. "It wasn't like that. We weren't just screwing each other."

"So the both of you just get it on, neither one of you thinking about the consequences of that? She should have. She's old enough to know better."

Pony's jaw clenches. "Why should she?"

"In a place like that, it's common sense, you'd think."

I almost wish Soda was here to stop me shooting off at the mouth. I just sometimes can't help myself when it comes to Ponyboy.

"She wasn't sleeping around," he states evenly.

"But she did with you, how do you know that she hadn't planned to get pregnant?"

"Why would she?"

"To get out of that place."

His eyes flash with a fire I've not seen in a long while. "Sometimes you do desperate things to get out of hell," he mutters fiercely. "She's seen stuff as bad as I have if not worse. You weren't there. You don't know what it's like to see guys blown into bits and pieces. Every day she had to deal with that, and I don't blame her doing anything to get out of there."

He's shaking and it suddenly occurs to me how defensive he is of her. His words have a way of deflating my anger. He's right. I don't have any idea. All I've seen is what it's done to him. Right now I'm gonna end up distancing my youngest brother from myself. Ponyboy has a daughter with the very woman he's defending, and I've not seen such determination in his eyes. Whether I like it or not, fact is, he's a father. And it's not that I don't think he'll be damn good one, because I know he will, I just wish it was later down the track and not right now.

I rest the peeler on the chopping block, silently berating myself. Taking in a deep breath, a look down at the dozen or so potatoes lying scattered over the bench.

"Guess I did peel too many," I murmur.

Ponyboy just snorts. "I did try to tell you."

My eyes meet with his. He's nearly as tall as me, taller than Soda and sometimes it's hard to believe he's not a kid anymore. He is a young man with his whole life ahead of him, even if his life has gone in a wildly different direction to what I'd hoped for him.

"It's a hell of a lot of responsibility, Ponyboy," I sigh.

"Gotta learn it sometime. Besides I had some pretty good role models. Dad for 13 years of my life and then you."

It occurs to me that my little brother has grown up a lot. He's observant and his words touch me. Does Ponyboy really see me as a good role model? Right now I don't feel like one. I'm still finding it hard to come to terms with him having a daughter.

"You're still young," I sigh.

"I'm 20."

"You are just 20," I reiterate.

I see the stubborn tilt of his chin. I know that look.

"Dad was 20 when he had you," he points out. "You were 20 when you had to take care of me and Soda."

I'm about to say that's different, but then, he's right. Dad was just 20 when he had me. I was the same age when I had to look after my brothers. Only I know how tough that is.

"You're disappointed?" he asks in a deflated tone of voice as if what I think truly does matter to him.

"No … just … it's sudden and you're still recovering from your time in Vietnam."

"I know I'm not right in myself, and I don't know if I will ever be, but when I see her, my daughter, it makes me want to do anything I can to be whole again." He takes a deep breath. "That I can get better."

My hand rests on his shoulder. There's a light in his eyes I've not seen since before he left for Vietnam, there's life there now, a steely resolve. It causes a lump to form in my throat. Hell, if it takes a baby to pull him out of that dark place he's been residing in, then maybe it isn't such a bad thing. I tousle his unkempt hair. Sometimes it hurts to look at him. For so long he's been my sole responsibility. I just wanted what was best for him.

"You're not still mad at me?" he slowly asks, eyes hopeful.

"Hell, Ponyboy, I won't lie and say I wished you were older, but you know me. I'll get use to the idea."

Sudden relief flickers in his eyes. A hint of a smile tilts up the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I know you."

Soda pokes his head around the door. "Is it safe to come in now?"

"I take it you've been eaves dropping," I mutter, glancing at him.

"Just wanna make sure world war III ain't gonna happen," he quips and strolls into the kitchen. He stops when he's eyes rest on the mound of potatoes.

"Ya feeding an army now, Darry." He raises an eyebrow.

"With five grown men in the house, it's not far off it," I grimace. "Though I don't know what I'm going to do with all these spuds."

"I know," Ponyboy cuts in. "Potato bake."

I frown. Ponyboy's been making all sorts of different meals for dinner these last couple of months, and I have to admit he's pretty good at it. It gives him something to do being stuck in the house day in and day out.

I still have a pile of questions I want to ask him, but it can wait. Keep the peace for now. We can talk later.

"Is there any cream?" he asks, opening the fridge door to peer into it.

"No."

"Don't suppose you can drive to the grocery store and get some?"

"All right," I mutter, grabbing my keys. I can see Soda wants to talk to him. I'll give them some time alone.

"Need anything else?"

Ponyboy pulls a block of cheese out of the fridge. "Nope." He shoves it at Soda. "You can grate the cheese."

I leave the two of them alone and head out the front door, spying Two-Bit and Steve sitting on the old beat up sofa.

"Two-Bit," I call. "You can come grocery shopping with me."

"What, now?"

"No, next week, let's go."

He exchanges a look with Steve, before stubbing out his cigarette and reaching for his cane.

I blast up the heater as soon as we get in the car.

Two-Bit rubs his hands together, placing then in front of the air vent. "So, you grilled out Ponyboy?"

Not as much as I could have. My younger brother can hold his own.

"I just wish he'd use his head at times."

"Since when has Pony ever," Two-Bit replies cheerfully. Then his face gets serious. "I don't think he ever thinks about the repercussions? He just rushes in where angels fear to dread, but it takes guts, he has plenty of that. Man I could have throttled him on numerous occasions in Nam. Fucking playing hero too damn often. Especially that one time we were holed up in this ditch being shot at by snipers and someone had to make a run for it, becoming a target and who should put their hand up for that. Your brother is who."

This is something I really don't need to hear. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel. I know all about my brother's tendency to play hero.

"If you're wondering about his relationship with Cherry I can't give ya much on that, but I do know she cares for him. From the moment they first met over there they just connected. She's good for him, Darry."

I take some comfort from his words. "You'll see for yourself soon enough," he continues. "Guess you're an uncle now."

He lets out a chuckle. "Last thing I ever expected was Pony to have a kid. Fuck that. At this rate we're all gonna end up crusty old bachelors except for him."

* * *

It could have been a lot worse. It could have been ugly. I've not seen Darry that angry in a long while. His opinion matters a lot to me. I felt the shame at first, but when he started blaming Cherry, the shame shifted to anger and frustration. He doesn't realize that without the comfort she offered me in Vietnam, I'd be a lot worse off.

Thankfully Darry saw reason. Though, what else can he do? It is what it is. I have a baby. I'm a father.

Soda takes a whole different approach to Darry, but I can tell he still has questions to ask.

"Jeez, Pony, you're the last person I'd expect to be a father out of all of us." He says with a wry shake of his head. "It kinda changes things, don't it?"

"I guess," I sigh, focusing my attention to slicing up the potatoes. The thought does silently terrifying me but not in a bad way.

"What's her name?"

"Hope."

Soda stops grating the cheese, a reflective look on his face. "Still can't believe it."

"Neither can I."

His eyes rest on my face.

"What she like?"

I pause in my slicing of potatoes for a moment. How do I begin to explain it? "She's this amazing little human being with a mind of her own. She laughs and gurgles and babbles. I can't believe that something so perfect can come from me."

All of today I'd spent so much time with her. Playing with her toys, reading picture books to her and even giving her a bottle. Her trusting eyes would look up at me, and so many emotions had swamped me. So much so that I'm still unable to process them.

"I can," Soda affirms, breaking me out of my reverie. "Hell, Ponyboy, she's your kid, of course she's gonna be something else."

Soda's words touch me in a way that they only can, as they always have. _'You're an all right kid, Pony.'_ Those words from long ago still resonate with me. Despite all the shit I've put him through. Out of everyone, I sometimes think Soda's suffered the most. I wish I could undo it. Take back what I've done to both of my brothers since returning from Vietnam.

"What about Cherry?" he asks.

She's the last person I'd ever expect to end up with. That night long ago at the drive-ins, seems nothing more than a distant memory now.

"You gonna marry her?" he continues.

I just about slice my finger off. "Bit soon for that," I gasp, perturbed. "Just gonna take it one day at a time."

"But you love her?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"And she loves you?"

Hard as it is to believe. "She does." Though I don't know why, maybe one day I'll see it.

A smile lights up Soda's face. "Good for you, Pony. You deserve it."

 _Do I?_ I choose to ignore those words. I have to start fighting thoughts like that.

* * *

Everyone scoffs the potato bake down, along with the steak. The steak is a bit tough because Darry always over cooks it.

"Next time you should get Pony to cook it," Soda suggests. "Don't mean to dish ya cooking abilities Darry, but Pony is much better at it."

Steve smirks at me. "You're so domesticated, Ponyboy, you'd make a fine husband now," he teases. "I real catch, cooking dinners and cleaning the house."

I ignore his barbs and shove a forkful of potatoes in my mouth. I look up to find four pair of eyes watching me, full of speculation, Darry's with uncertainty.

"What'cha gonna do now, Ponyboy?" he asks. "You got a daughter to support."

"I'm sure Cherry has loads of money," Steve scoffs.

I swallow. "She doesn't want her parent's money," I blurt out, "They were none too pleased when she came home pregnant."

"They disowned her?" Soda asks in disbelief.

I shake my head. "Not quiet, but she's like an embarrassment to them. She's living in a house owned by her Uncle. It's not much but she prefers it that way."

"What she doing for money then?"

"She'd saved up some from her time in Vietnam."

"She's on her own then?" Two-Bit inquires.

I nod.

"All this time?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck that," Two-Bit swears.

I can see what he's thinking, at least we've had support, had each other, but what has she had?

"We should ask her over on Christmas day," Soda suggests.

"When's Christmas day?" I ask, suddenly panicked. Was it that time of the year already?

"Thursday."

That's only a week away! How could I have lost track of time?

"Why don't you ask Sue too, that way she won't be the only girl here," Soda continues, oblivious to my discomfort.

What the hell am I gonna buy her and Hope? Just the thought sends me into a tail spin.

"I need a job," I mutter out loud without realizing.

"Need to learn to brush ya hair too," Steve states, eyes alight with amusement. "Now that ya got a hot girl in ya life you might wanna consider looking a bit more spruced up."

I roll my eyes. Steve's in fine form as usual. But I wouldn't have it any other way. The bantering gives me a sense of normalcy.

"There's always the bank," Darry suggests.

Yeah, but I need to leave the house for that. I've gotta confront that fear and fast. However, the thought of returning to the bank still doesn't appeal to me. But maybe I just gotta take what I can get.

Two-Bit helps himself to more potato bake. "I can probably get ya a job at the post office."

I like the thought of that a lot more. If I do have a flashback, Two-Bit would be there. He'd come through for me like he always does.

"Yeah, all right."

"Christmas day is sure gonna be different to the last one?" Soda says cheerfully, "Almost like old times again."

"Last Christmas sucked," Steve added.

My eyes meet with Two-Bit's, not as much as it did for us. We share an understanding no one else here can.

"I know what I'm gonna buy ya for Christmas, kid," Steven begins a grin on his face. "A packet of condoms."

There are guffaws of laughter around the table, except for Darry, but even a twitch of a smile crosses his face. As usual the joke is always on me. But I don't mind. I've come to appreciate Steve's ability to diffuse tension.

These moments, they're special. Time spent around the dinner table, conversing, teasing and lot's of bantering. I think I enjoy them more now than I ever have done.

* * *

After everyone has left and the house is quiet, I find the photos I'd taken in Vietnam and look at them. I don't know what propels me to do so. Sometimes you have to face your demons, that's what the shrink had told me. Maybe she has a point.

The brown paper I'd wrapped them in was still tapped up. After the battle at ripcord I never took another photo, but I had plenty before then.

I sift through the photos, sorting them into piles. The kids at the swimming pool, laughing and smiling. Kids are kids no matter the color of their skin or cultural background. That's what I found. The photos speak for themselves. They capture the innocence. Two-Bit with his sideburns and his eyes reflecting the once familiar easy going light in them. Something I've not seen since. Now they often flash with bitterness, a bitterness he tries to mask. I wistfully look at a photo of Two-Bit tossing a kid into the pool. He has both his legs and is laughing. We were all so naive once.

The next lot of photos are of the Vietnamese people, going about their daily business as if war and death is just part of it. There are old women, aged before their time. Young men looking lost and disillusioned. Children with no shoes on their feet, wearing ragged clothes. All the photos reflect the impact the war has had on them. We don't get it here. We fight in wars, but we don't experience it on home soil.

I sort through the photos I'd taken of the guys in my platoon. So many of them never to return home, still joking and laughing as if there was no tomorrow. But tomorrow came. And it was brutal. I still see their faces. Every day, I see them. It feels like tight metal bands are wrapped around my chest, making it difficult to breath.

Tearing off a scrap of paper from a note pad, I scribble down just two words - _nobody wins_.

Then I lay back on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to get my emotions in check. I think I now know what it is I want to do. Tell a story through images. Capture a moment in time. Capture the world we live in, even in its ugliness but also in its innocence too.

I roll over onto my side. Last night was something else. Memories of Cherry filter through my mind, the way her hands lightly caressed the scars on my chest as if she could magically heal the emotional pain they've caused me. The way we stared into each other's eyes, faces only inches apart, with startled delight and wonder. The war was over. We survived it. We had found each other again.

Tomorrow was a new day, something we'll face together. She didn't have to do it alone anymore. Neither did I.

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* * *

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 **A/N:** Thanks for reading! This chapter was a difficult one to write at times as I always suffer major writer's block when getting towards the end of a story! As a result I don't always finish them, but I really want to finish this one as I've put so much into it. A ton of research. A lot of heartfelt pain. I've loved writing every part of it! I've had some amazing reviews and loyal supporters from the get go. I appreciate everyone of you!

There is only one more chapter left and an epilogue. I know exactly what happens in the epilogue but the last chapter can have a number of different things take place. This is where I would really like some suggestions! Please let me know what you would like to see happen with these characters one last time that we all love so much from the novel itself. It's been a privilege to continue their journey in this story.


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